


Adjustments

by crimsonofiron



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: A sprinkle of Clintasha on the side, Developing Relationship, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonofiron/pseuds/crimsonofiron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Why can't I get enough of you?" Steve whispered.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> In which Steve and Tony encounter perky and risky situations that could change themselves and their relationship with others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hates that shark-like grin, hates the way Tony's brow raises, hates that little hair strand hanging over his forehead so much that it-makes his lips quirk up a bit, and it doesn't make sense. It’s been only two months.

The very beginnings were thrilling, with the flying Chitauris and the never-ending missile. Steve thought about it for a while and how it changed the team physically and emotionally them.

Two months had passed ever since the Avengers moved in to Stark Tower, and today’s just one of those days when Tony Stark is literally down after a battle out in Manhattan. He thinks to himself, “Know what? Fuck these little bots or whatever. It’s done- thank God. We’re getting shwarma.”

The rest of the Avengers agree anyway, because they’re battered, bruised and bloody, and maybe a little snack wouldn’t hurt after all. It’s not much to ask, really. Walking in a worn-down food store feels slightly hazy for them. Broken charred pieces of bricks and stones spread the ground they walk on, Bruce almost trips on a jagged rock, but it’s not a big deal. This was more of a routine thing after a whole day of saving humanity.  
They won this battle only to a close call, which was a bit different compared to the previous disaster that happened in New York.

Steve Rogers sits on a table from the other side and watches the view around him.  


Tony’s hair is in a mess and the side of it is full of dust and ashes. He doesn’t bother to brush it off and disassemble his suit. Instead he walks to the counter and orders.  


Bruce Banner is oddly quiet, but the team understands. They know each other’s ways, how every fight changes a person, and in general, how sickly tired they are.  


Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff sit beside each other by the table, leaning into each other in a way, or maybe it’s just exhaustion.  


Thor simply devours his food without a word, sometimes stealing a fry from Tony’s plate when he comes back.

Steve didn’t like shwarma much at the first time, but that was then until he took a second bite, and to his third. He eats with silence and unintentionally listens to the sound of the group chewing. By the time he finishes his first, he reaches in for the last shwarma that was generously placed on paper plate on the middle of the goddamn table.

Tony had reached in as well and Steve and Tony’s hands graze against one another until the man in the iron suit raises a challenging brow at Steve. Except Steve’s reaction changes and doesn’t answer.  
The two men stayed like that after a while with their hands hovering above the piece of delicious, most scrumptious piece of-

“Too late.” Tony quips, and he snatches the thing from the plate and gives Steve another challenging grin.  


Steve would have-of course- lost to Tony Stark. In which he happens to hate his shark-like grin, hates the way Tony's brow raises, hates that little hair strand hanging over his forehead so much that it-makes his lips quirk up a bit, and it doesn't make sense. It’s been only two months. 

-  
-

 

 

Tony has a date with Pepper.

It’s six o'clock PM on a Wednesday and he’s buttoning up his dark-grey dress shirt, leaves the first button undone, puts on a pair of classy slacks, and fixes his hair. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and stares at himself for a good one minute.  
He’s supposedly meeting up with Pepper at some place in half an hour, god knows what.

It’s the usual for him. He’s not nervous, and he doesn’t have sweaty palms, either. Tony likes Pepper, and if he takes her out to a cheap take-out, then it’d be fine with her. She’s comfortable, he’s comfortable, and everything’s fine.

Dandy.

 

Tony turns and heads down to the main lobby of Avengers Tower. It’s as loud as it gets.

Thor occupies himself with a bowl of Kernels popcorn in front of the TV, Clint’s facing the screen on the floor with his head pressed against the couch, Natasha’s fetching some strawberries, Bruce tags along with blueberries, and Steve’s sitting on an arm chair.

The blonde god cheers, “Alas! Hunter Dean comes back!” and he’s watching so intently, the bowl he’s holding almost tips off the couch.

“Hey! No spoilers.” Clint says, throwing the god a piece of popcorn from the floor. Natasha rolled her eyes and Steve chuckles.

As much as Steve doesn’t show it, he actually likes it when the team is all hunched over in one group, attentive to some other source such as the television. And it’s home, he thinks. It may not be as family-based but he’s pleasantly okay with it. It’s not as bad as his first day from the past to the present so he appreciates what he has and enjoys all that he can.

Steve moves his head and notices Tony coming down, who’s now making a beeline towards the kitchen.

Clint sees him too, and he adds with a grin, “Aye! My man!”

“You shut up.” Tony responds as he points at Clint and not making any direct eye contact, but he smirks and takes in two to three blueberries. “Now tell me,” Tony begins, “--Who stole like half of the blueberry pack here because this morning, last time I checked—“

“—Bruce.” Natasha points out, clearly attentive to the screen in front of her as she picks on a few strawberries.  
Bruce just gives a feeble smile at Tony, and he shrugs as a sign of saying, “Yeah, okay.” He seriously cannot afford getting on the man’s temper and bundling the nerves of the other guy.

From there, Steve watches Tony. Watches how easy the dress-shirt looks on him as he picks food, watches the dark stubble on his chin, and even if Steve’s own fingers would skate on the man’s jaw, cheek to cheek—  
Nevertheless, he still manages a good appearance. It punches Steve’s gut somehow.

“Cap.” Tony called out, unintentionally distracting Steve’s thoughts like a dagger. Steve needed that.

“Yes?”

“Catch.”  
Tony tosses him a fresh, green apple straight from the pile and Steve catches it with slight confusion. “Uh, thanks?” Steve stands and pads towards the kitchen sink across from Tony to rinse the apple off.

Tony licks his lips. “That was my special offer and besides, you looked a little lonely.”

Steve snorts with his back turned. Tony closes the fridge, grabs a cracker and nudges Steve on the elbow. “I have to go, like in 20 minutes, but, this-" He gestures at the shirt he’s wearing. "yeah? Five stars? Because I feel naked without the blazer." 

Steve blinks because in all honesty, he doesn't really know what to say since fashion wasn’t his type of thing. He responds, but mumbles quickly anyway.  
“It’s fine. Though it’s not all the same to me since this is your type of thing, but- ” He sets down the apple on the counter and links his fingers with the second button on Tony’s shirt. He simply undoes it as Tony stares. “—there.”

“Thanks.” Tony says slowly, because for a second he didn’t know what Steve was doing before then. Steve nods, agonizingly slow and he really needs to stop himself from nodding. They both look stupid and Tony’s thinking if he should go already or stay for a bit. Scratch that. He can’t. He has to go. Now.

“I’m going now.” Tony blurts. He doesn’t even check the time.

“Okay.” was all Steve said before Thor and Clint bid adieu to Tony.

He’s not sure if Tony ever paid attention, or took the time to notice the littlest things between them that could mean so much.  
But at the same time, he thinks, _No._

 

Steve doesn’t fight for attention, it's- he'd rather wait, maybe wait some more if he ever wanted to, and occasionally, approach it openly.  
That's his situation with Tony Stark. Nothing’s been the same since he’s been here, when he eventually accepted Tony’s offer on moving in his Tower—The tower he insulted two months ago, and later on sketched it on a piece of paper of which he used to call it, the “ugly building”.

Steve stands in his balcony just outside his very own room. He _likes_ his room because no matter how simple, plain, or boring it looked; it’s all he ever wanted. The walls are coloured with domestic green, and perfect brown, occupied with a large flat screen TV. He doesn’t mind it, although he rarely uses the thing.  
He stares blankly at Manhattan and its beautiful city lights. It’s not the same as it was before of course, but he’s starting to like this better.

And something in him wants to capture what he sees like a snapshot and transfer it to his sketchbook. He searches in his drawers for a pencil and his sketchbook, in his bags, everywhere around his room until he finally found it.

He enters his room, sat down on a beanbag chair and begins drawing his view of the mesmerizing city lights in front of him. Steve adds in every detail and little specks of the nearby ocean. He outlines the nature and shades everything of what’s left.

 

When he finishes his work, he tucks his sketchbook neatly in his drawer and keeps it there for next time.


	2. Chapter 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uh...” Steve says. 
> 
> Tony slowly went back to his feet, faces Steve and gives a toothy grin. He doesn’t wince, or fall back. Instead he holds up a fist, wanting Steve’s eyes to follow it. “Could I—“ Tony prompts. 
> 
> Steve’s lips twist and he laughs. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not what you think. 
> 
> (Also I added something in that had something to do with a certain movie but I don't think a lot of you would catch that.)  
> (Another thing. I'm new with this HTML coding thing and I've been having trouble with it. Which is why in some texts, they should have been italicized, but I couldn't get it to work so I left it the way it is. Gah.)
> 
> I'd appreciate some comments and tell me what you guys think. :D

Another day has passed without the sound of the alarm ringing off in the building. New York’s done it right, or so that’s what Tony thinks.  
He likes the fact that it has been like this for two days straight, though it may seem strange, but he’s fine with it.

Instead of working for two hours in his R&D, Tony heads straight to the sparring room closest to the gym. From there he meets up with Clint, Natasha, and Steve. Steve takes on the punching bag while ‘Tash and Clint spar in the boxing ring.

Huh.

“Hey, Tony.” Steve says, and his breathing sounds ragged as he throws in another sharp punch against the mat.  
His forehead is slick along his hairlines, he’s sweaty, and his cheeks appear faint red that Tony’s probably staring at him longer than usual.

“Cap,” Tony acknowledges, and the first thing he notices was: One, he’s sweaty. And second, his shirt is too tight.

 _What a sight,_ Tony doesn’t say.

Steve and Tony glance at Natasha, and then to Clint, who’s gotten himself in a headlock under Natasha’s arms, twisting and turning.  
Here’s the thing. They’re two spy assassins, dully noted. Usually when the two of them spar, there’s a certain kind of pattern on which they put into it. Tony’s been in it once, which he had been trapped underneath Natasha’s thigh.

Tony wants to try something else, so the first thing he does is dragging a nearby flat blue mat and unfolds it onto the floor. Steve checks up on him, faltering his punches until he questions, “Are you trying to do yoga?”

Tony hunches over to spread the whole thing out fit enough for two people to stand on, and snorts. “Yoga, right. I’m just going to sit here, stretch a leg or two and break my spinal cord. And maybe try to locate my head in all the wrong places.”

Steve scrunches up his face and crookedly smirks. “That sounds painful, but yoga’s not that bad, I think.”

“That’s what they all say, but for you, maybe. Anyway, speaking of yoga, you might as well hit me right now.” He turns his head to the side, points straight to his jaw, and jumps a few times.

“What?” Steve replies, because he had this coming, but not like this.

Tony beckons at the other man. It doesn’t stop himself from planting his feet square on the mat, one-foot front and the other at the back. “C’mon. I need to get my hands beat or something. Adrenaline, y’know? I haven’t felt that in two days. Go on,” he prompts. “Loosen up.” He gives a coy smile, ready to receive.

Steve’s brow rises because he’s not entirely sure what he’s on, but okay, he could hit him. After all, they’re two grown adults in a mature situation, and they’re going to handle it like one.  
“Without the gloves?” Steve asks.

“Without the gloves.” 

Steve lands his fist on Tony’s jaw that makes the other man coil backwards a bit with his mouth gaping. Even Steve catches Clint’s gaze, who's laughing silently.

“Uh...” Steve says.

Tony slowly went back to his feet, faces Steve and gives a toothy grin. He doesn’t wince, or fall back. Instead he holds up a fist, wanting Steve’s eyes to follow it. “Could I—“ Tony prompts.

Steve’s lips twist and he laughs. “Yeah.”

It goes off like that, one punch then to the next, landing to the stomach and sides. The two of them twists, and blocks, and dodge upcoming strikes. Tony enjoys this, he admits, because Steve knew his weaknesses and strengths so he uses this in their practice. It not only benefits Tony, but for Steve too.

There was a point where Tony was completely bent over the mat and he blinks because his ears are ringing after a third pass to the stomach. It felt like a haze for a moment but he went through it. Steve held out a hand and Tony took it to heave himself up. He flexes his jaw and gives a breathy chuckle. “Getting tired?”

“Nah. We’re just getting started.” Tony gives a lopsided grin.

Tony takes a good look of Steve for a sign of cut or a bruise and there it was. A small and thin cut crosses the upper part of his cheek. He notices the sides of his hair sticking on his skin like wet paper and his eyes look glossy but sturdy. He notices the corner of his mouth fidgeting to form a coy smile that makes Tony choke on a word and pushing spiders to play against his ribs.  
Steve readies himself for the next blow and groans as he tumbles backwards with Tony advancing on him. Tony’s on and at it and Steve’s studying his every move, experimenting. Tony couldn’t help but smile.

They have been going on like this for a good half an hour. The entire gym smells like sweat and skin. It was pretty enjoyable, if Tony must admit. He has a right bruise just by his shoulder, a scratch on his right cheek and Steve’s all the same.

Clint crawls out of the boxing ring with an iced-bottle in hand and glances between Steve and Tony. “It looks like the two of you just got mugged.” He jokes, tipping his head back to empty his bottle whole.

Tony wipes his brow with his forearm and stretches his neck. “So who’s ass got the upper hand?” He says, referring to Clint and Natasha’s little spar back then.

Clint grunts warningly, “Don’t mention it.” And he pushes himself off the table to pick up another shirt, wiggling his index finger to Steve and Tony. “ Anyway, between the two of you, I think—“

“I won.” Tony points out before removing his shirt and exchanging for a spare, whereas Steve is standing by the water fountain and water spurts up his nose because he literally just lost his focus for a bit. Steve coughs and god, how _embarrassing_ , he swears to God.

Clint looks at him funny, who is clearly suppressing a laugh.

Tony gazes at Steve. His mouth is tight and Steve coughs again, hiding his nose and cleans himself using the hem of his shirt.

“He’s coughing out a lung,” says Natasha, leaning against the wall.

Steve huffs and dismissively waves a hand. “No, I’m fine. By the way, Tony, it was a _tie_ from what I remember.”

“Tie or whatever—I almost won by a close call.” Tony recalls as he grabs his grey tank top and pulls it on. “I mean, just by that close, and god, it was funny because this bruise was so worth it.”

Clint breaks in and stands in front of him. “Ah, let me guess—“

“Shut up.” Tony says.

Steve’s head falls back and laughs, and Tony notices the veins on Steve’s neck and the way his hair hangs from his forehead. If he could just reach in—or maybe loop an arm around—

 _Fuck,_ Tony thinks, and he wants so say something but he can’t because _hello,_ his surroundings. Not only that, he’s- he’s..—  
 _Fuck._

From that moment, he swore to himself, _Okay. Okay, I’m going to stop. Yeah, that’d be nice. He’ll try to. It won’t be hard. Hopefully._

He stops thinking until Steve brushes past him and grabs his duffle bag.

Clint does the same along with Natasha and walks off to the exit.

_Well._

Tony approaches Steve from behind. He has this urge to say something, or call Steve out for whatever reason. The thing is, Tony doesn’t know what to say and he’s searching for a conversation at the moment, which is probably the reason why the gym has gotten too quiet all of a sudden.

“Tony, um.” Steve starts as he turns his heel to face the other man. With safe distance, he made sure of that. Just in case.

Tony pretends he’s got something else in his mind, so he fidgets with the nearest door handle absent-mindedly and he opens it halfway until he hears Steve call out his name. “What’s up?”

Steve slings the straps of his bag over his shoulder, and he tells himself, _Go on._ “You know, you’re actually a pretty good fight. It was worth the adrenaline.”

Tony pauses and turns for what seemed to last like an eternity. “Thanks. I uh, I got you pretty bad on the right—“ he gestures towards his right cheek that swelled up a dark bruise even though he has one similar to it on the same place.

Steve touches his own bruise and briefly laughs at himself. “You got the same thing. It’s nothing,”  
Tony ignores the thin, red line currently leaking down on his cheek because hey, it was actually worth it, and it was fun. “We should patch ourselves up before the whole team thinks we went off on our own and tripped on a gigantic banana peel.” He laughs a little and he doesn’t know why the hell he’s laughing. It’s ridiculous.

But Steve joins in too, whole-heartedly and bubbly that Tony doesn’t think it’s insanely ridiculous anymore at the fact that they’re laughing too loudly over a damn banana peel.

Soon enough Tony’s rasping for air and he sounds like he’s dying, while Steve’s shaking his head and forces himself to lean against the wall to steady himself.

God, they’re so stupid.

Tony stupidly thinks it’s _adorable_ , he thinks he’s gotten crazy to even think so.  
He looks at Steve for a long moment and he wants to say something else, something different from the back of his throat but it’s all caught up.

Steve clutches on to his stomach and takes two deep breaths and his smile is so wide, it’s embarrassing for him.

They both catch their breaths and stares again for a really long time. Tony still had this temptation but he cannot bring himself to it because he’s been with Pepper for a while now. He can’t break it, or run away from it either.

“We should go.” Tony finally says after the awkward silence just a while ago.

 

Steve nods, then he silently follows Tony from behind.

It’s been a silent journey from exiting the gym to meeting up with Bruce and Thor along the way.

Tony doesn’t know how long he’d keep it up, and he hates and loves the fact that he’s been reeled in somehow.  
Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t push the topic. He’s keeping it there and silent as they go.

He still waits.


	3. Chapter 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony has this thing with pineapples.

Thankfully, everything is still fine as the new week began. Except Tony’s been bored since last week and God knows this week is going to be the same just as the previous one, which explains why he’s been in his lab for about two to three days straight. 

Tony manages to call Pepper most of the time, informing JARVIS to “ring her up” as he’s busy tinkering with computers and mechanics. She left to Malibu the day after their date to handle such business meetings for Stark Industries. 

He misses her but he likes the company. It’s like they have been going on like this for an hour, discussing how the past two days have been going, about her meetings, about the renovations in the Tower, and other things. They go on for so long but Pepper doesn’t seem to mind, and neither does Tony. 

“By the way, how are they? It’s been a while since I’ve heard from the team.” Pepper asks. On the screen, she’s in her hotel room, stacking papers and tucking them neatly into a portfolio to organize her sorts. 

He thinks about it for a while even though he currently has his hands on one of his repulsor gauntlets, measuring how much energy it can hold. Tony tells her anyway.

Clint and Natasha are stuck in the SHIELD database due to Fury’s call. They recently left that morning. He preferred not to be involved in it either way. 

Bruce has been out with Betty for a while now, though he’s not entirely sure if he’s already home or not. Chances are, Bruce is probably thinking, Perhaps a little bit longer. Then it turns out to an hour, to the next hour, and so on.

Thor left with Jane and Tony predicts the two of them have been frolicking into different realms and such, meeting up with gods and goddesses with gigantic capes.

Meanwhile Steve may have ventured around the tower for a bit to keep time. He encountered him downstairs just an hour ago. Their eyes would meet as an awkward… thing, Tony would nod his head and that was it. Tony doesn’t know what he’s exactly up to but he’s fine with it. 

Pepper ducks her head and there’s a smile on her face, as in saying, _Oh, Tony._ “Out of all things, on this perfect day, you’re here in the lab, no one’s there, you passed by Steve, and that’s all you did. I think—“

Tony shrugs because he can’t help it. There’s literally nothing else to say especially on a day like this and he’s lazy, for God’s sake. Like no one can get him to move.

So he starts off by saying, “—Seriously, I can feel the tumbleweeds rolling around in this building. That’s a sign of saying this day means nothing to me and I—“

“—you should just go outside and maybe tag Steve along to keep you busy or talk because—“

“— truly wouldn’t care if the alarm would go off right now to keep me up—“

“—nobody is there anyway except Happy, but he can go too. It’s ideal.”

“—and I’m being serious.” Tony trails off.

“Tony.” Pepper says, and uses that voice like no other. She takes a pause of what she’s doing and he does the same. He recognized this right away, which he considered it as a translation of ‘Shut up.’ He knew her so well.

Tony blurts out without thinking, “God, I’ve missed you.” 

She lets out a soft laugh on her chair, and Tony smiles. 

He watches as she moves her chair closer to the screen and leans only by a little bit to keep his gaze, then tells him, “Save that gauntlet for another day. Treat this day as something you’d do differently, and maybe you won’t be as ‘bored’.” 

Tony blinks, and okay, she did have a point. It’s just that—he doesn’t know particularly of how he’d spend his day with Steve. For others, a thought would come right off the top. Unfortunately though, not this time. Was it because they were polar opposites? They bickered a lot? Or? 

Whatever. 

After a few seconds, he removes his hands from the repulsor, props his chin up on a table with his hand and pulls a straight face. “Fine, but you owe me like—“ he holds out his fingers and counts. “ten—“

Pepper chuckled to herself. “Nice try, Tony.” He can hear the content side of her voice, and it’s nice.

They continue talking, and at one point, Pepper took notice of the bruise that was previously a scar on Tony’s cheek and _Oh shit,_ he literally forgot about that. Of course she asked about what happened even though she knew there hasn’t been any attacks in New York from the day she left.

So Tony explained what had happened and absent-mindedly spilling out of how he actually liked the spar, and that he’d need newer techniques to improve himself. She suggested Natasha to spar next so he took that into consideration. After he spoke he would listen to himself and realize how much he was a goddamn idiot to say such things like this to Pepper.

The good thing though, is that Pepper didn’t care. In fact, she laughed.

But there was still something that had been stuck in his mind lately, and he can’t just—

He holds it back.

Eventually, Pepper has to go, and she says, “I’ll talk to you soon, Tony.”

“I’ll see you. And good luck with the meeting. You’ll do fine.” Tony replies as he removes himself from the table.

She gives a genuine smile. “Thanks. I’ll text you if I have time.”

He responds with a simple “Okay,” which is then followed by Pepper saying ‘I love you’.

There’s a short three-second silence until Tony replies, “ Love you too,” and the screen fades back to its original image again. 

He sits back in his chair and stares blankly at the iron gauntlet with his mind reeling.

-

-

When Tony finds out Steve was nowhere to be seen, (JARVIS even checked his room and the gym.) he’s standing in the middle of the lounge like a boy who has just been lost, and it’s _ridiculous._

He calls Steve’s number anyway, positive that Steve have already gotten the handle of his new flip phone. Steve have always hated the touch screens because he said one time to Tony, “The layout keeps freezing.” So Tony re-adjusted the content and features that had simple buttons for Steve to see. Plus, he even set out a ringtone for him.

Tony holds the phone to his ear and went into the kitchen to grab a few sugary snacks. 

It takes three dial tones for Steve to finally answer the phone. “Tony?” He hears the sound of streetcars from the other end and boy, would he have figured it out that Steve went out for a run. 

“Cap—hey!” And Tony wants to slap himself. “Look, I hear that you’re outside at the moment. I have no idea where the hell you are right now, probably running 5 miles from here but—“

Steve’s voice is flat which Tony recognizes. “Tony, I’m at your roof.” 

There’s a brief pause before Tony breaks in, “O-kay, that’s fine,” he says slowly, “and what for?” He starts walking to the elevator as he speaks.

It seemed to be a bit windy, judging how much he can hear over the phone that almost covers Steve’s voice. Of course Steve would be at the roof at the wrong time doing whatever. 

“I like it here, actually.” Steve admits, his voice raising a little to overpass the strong gusts of wind. “It helps me think sometimes.” There’s a bit of loud shuffling from the speaker that forces Tony to move his ear away by an inch. “Sorry,” Steve mumbles, sounding like he’s in a hurry for something. 

Tony doesn’t answer because he’s already there without Steve noticing. Steve has his fingers coiled on the railings as he gazes down at the view with a sketchbook open in his other hand and his phone in the other. 

Steve moves away from his phone and checks on it several times. “Hello?” He speaks into the phone, utterly confused.

Tony arrives behind him with a calm demeanor, one hand casually sinking in his pockets, and he replies, “Hey there.” 

_Jesus, Tony._ Thankfully, Steve doesn’t drop his sketchbook over the damn railing. He hates himself for being surprised so easily. But it was only Tony, so it’s cool. It’s fine.

Steve turns to see the billionaire standing there and Tony looks calm and relaxed, his hair is all over the place because of the wind. Steve also hates the fact that he somehow brought Tony along with him in the roof when the weather decides to be uncontrollable. 

The other guy looks at Steve funny. His brows twitch in a way like Steve amused him at some point. 

“How do you even—“ Tony’s face is so damn blown right now, his eyes start stinging. “Jesus.” Tony croaks, and he turns to face the opposite way the wind is going. He doesn’t shiver, though. “How do you think here? I mean it makes sense if the hour’s around dusk. It’s like, so nice. I’m sure you’ve done that before.”

Steve follows him because what the heck. Even though his ears appear bright red and his cheeks are feeling numb, he doesn’t mind it at all. 

“Yeah, I have.” Steve says softly as he crosses his arms, his voice barely audible through the wind. He has no idea why Tony arrived in the first place. “I do like this place, now that I’ve thought about it. Especially the—uh, this roof. It’s comfortable.” 

Despite the fact that the spot they’re standing on was the exact same place Loki decided to be a little shit.

Tony watches Steve, who’s thinking, _this_ is Steve Rogers. Not Captain America. And he likes it when people act themselves around him, not trying to flash, or bling in front of Tony Stark. 

Pepper’s suggestion comes to him in an instant again, but that can wait. He likes this, too.

Tony’s lips flicker upwards, and he says, “Comfortable,” Tony repeats, thinking back to Steve’s words. “You know I thought you were in your room for a second, JARVIS checked,” Steve stares at him, sort of amused. “--and I’m not being creepy here.” Tony points out. 

Steve dry chuckles and shakes his head, telling him, “So you thought I was missing.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“You were looking for me.”

Tony twitches. “So?”

“Wow, you were worried sick.” Steve says flatly, his voice spilling in sarcasm, but he’s grinning anyway. 

“Let me back you up here. There’s absolutely nothing as in zero things to worry about.” Tony says, inwardly stopping himself from moving with the wind.

“Dandy.” Steve simply says, not moving.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Dandy.” He snorts. “Seriously.” 

Steve just shrugs a shoulder, laughing a little. 

The two of them talk like they’re supposed to, except they have decided to stay inside before they start grabbing onto poles to prevent themselves from flying. Steve had suggested this for Tony’s sake, strangely enough.  
Once they’re inside, Tony had ordered in a box of pizza and drinks before Steve knew what was going on. They sit on the sofa in front of the plasma TV to occupy themselves.

 

Tony is sitting on the far end on the couch with his hand over the back and his legs spread out on the space next to him, whereas Steve is on the opposite side. 

Steve takes the pineapple pieces from his Hawaiian pizza and eats it one by one. “These taste really nice,” Steve blurts because this was his attempt to pick up a conversation. 

“Damn right.” Tony mumbles into his Coke can. He licks his lips and switches to his pizza. “You’re really in it for pineapples, aren’t you?” 

Steve nods as he holds up a remote control to tune in to the latest baseball game. “There’s something about these pineapples.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. 

“Aside from the fact that they taste good?”

“They just taste good.”

“They’re sort of sour.”

“Not really. Also, I like the juices with it.”

“Sweet Jesus, _yes._ It’s sort of sour.”

Steve turns to him. “No, they’re not.” 

And their conversation trails off to the topic of sweet pineapples by accident.

Later on, they watch the baseball game between the Boston Red Sox and the Tampa Bay Rays. Tony didn’t like baseball but it’s fine. By the time the Red Sox led the game by two points with Tampa behind, there was only one pizza left. Tony thought of doing it slow by trying to get it first before Steve but they ended up tumbling towards it and knocking down Tony’s pop can. 

Steve holds up the last pizza with a bite, while Tony aims Steve’s face with a piece of cheese. 

-  
-  
It’s 8:30 PM and the game finished with the Red Sox ahead by 4 points. At that time, Tony’s position on the couch had changed. Instead of his arm hanging loose over the edge, its tucked on his stomach and his head had already dropped down on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes were closed, almost content and just—Tony. Meanwhile, Steve has his head leaning against the back of the couch, eyes closed but not sleeping. He relaxes against it and listens to what’s left of the TV. 

Steve opens one eye and glances down at Tony. _You usually don’t sleep at this hour, he doesn’t say._

But he likes the comfort and he appreciates that. 

He doesn’t know when Bruce, Clint, or the others would arrive, but he falls asleep by the time they come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think. :-)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets distracted.

Steve knows he’s been staying in Starbucks for too long. He’s huddled up by the nearest glass window, holding a Frappuccino latte in his hand, and sighing contently every time he takes a sip because it may be the most delicious thing he ever tasted.

Clint suggested it earlier, where Steve wanted a cup of tea but Clint decided to be a pushover and ordered something different.

He hears someone’s drink tumble on the table and words followed with, “Ah shit, sorry. Ha. Ha.” It was Darcy Lewis. She reaches over the table, swiftly grabs a tissue and smacks her hands down on the dark coffee liquid that was so close to stain Steve’s shirt.

 

Darcy pulls a stretchy smile and lifts her chin up to keep her cover. Steve stares at her blank, and he has no other choice but to laugh it off. “That was close.”

“I _really_ like the way you grip your things and letting it fall everywhere you go, like seriously.” Clint smirks into his cup while tilting his chair backwards with his feet against the wall.

Darcy does that smile again, like she could kill anyone at the moment, but that’s just it. “I hope you meant it the other way, because Gee Whiz, Clint Barton.”

She picks on the legs of Clint’s chair as if he’s bound to fall over that it could give him a slight heart attack and Clint almost yelps.

Of course Steve’s not alone. There’s Darcy, who’s still fidgeting Clint’s chair, and Tony. Thor, Natasha and Bruce went elsewhere, and Steve has no idea where.

The three of them have been sitting in the café for approximately half an hour because nobody chose to move, or even bothered to stand up.

Tony is sitting across from Steve, picking on his cinnamon roll and staring as if he found something. He nudges Clint’s side to get his attention, muttering, “Look at that. What the fu—“

“That’s eye hair.” Clint points out bluntly, shrugging.

Steve raises a brow at Clint’s choice of words. “Eye hair.” He chortles into his latte, and Clint just says, “Eyelash. Eyebrow. Whatever.”

Tony leans back and drops his cinnamon roll onto his plate because he never liked cinnamon in the first place, anyway. Instead of finishing it, he leans into his right arm and stares at Steve enough to make the other guy uncomfortable.

Steve side-pans and notices Tony has been making eye contact at the latte he’s holding.

“Nope.” Steve says, lips twisting.

“You’re no fun, did you know that?” Tony says as he drops his hand on the table.

“Maybe.”

Darcy shifts her chair closer to the table and takes out her phone. “Apparently, Jane’s out shopping with Thor,” she chews her cinnamon roll as she skims through her text messages. “Aaand, they spotted Bruce. Weird. Oh, and she says you guys should come over, blah blah, during this time of day, insert polite request here.”

Steve doesn’t like malls very much, besides the fact that fashion stores became very strange, but he just dislikes the appeal of… trendy “mall stuff”, referring as to what Clint had told him weeks ago. The technology they sell there is great, Steve even admits, and it’s amazing, but in all honesty, it’s just _okay._

He watches Tony fiddle with his napkin, and surprisingly, Tony hasn’t been talking much ever since the day started. It’s sort of a strange thought to him, except Steve doesn’t want to think over the line at some point because he hates jumping into conclusions.

Darcy pulls an incredulous look at the three men, waiting for a response, until Tony blurts out, “Steve needs new clothes.”

Steve sets down his latte and shakes his head. “You’ve told me already a month ago, and again, I’m not taking it.”

“I’ll make you new pants?” Tony asks cheekily.

“It’s fine.”

“A new shirt?”

“No.”

“--I’d like new shoes.” Clint sidles in, grinning sheepishly.

Tony holds out a hand, as if saying _See? Just like that._ “Done.” And Clint gives him a fist pump.

Steve watches the small interaction between the two and chuckles. He hasn’t seen Tony inventing new shoes, sweaters, or fashionable pants, let alone a creation of something that is non-technical. After all, Tony is Tony, and his hands and mind work like no other. It’s easy as twisting metal, easy as 1 2 3, and Steve finds it astounding.

Darcy prods Clint’s back and sighs as she leans in to the table. “So we’re going? Yeah? No? Okay?”

“Fine.” Tony says, and then for the first time ever, the three of them stands up.

~*~

They ended up _not_ buying any new clothes, and instead Steve buys a cheap set of earphones to go along with his phone. Tony has thought of offering Steve clothes, or even a brand new tie that would go along with it but Steve refuses.

It’s not like Steve hates it. Money doesn’t satisfy him to the point where buying expensive things can be done in three seconds.

He turns to see Clint and Thor discussing with the salesperson in the clothing store and by the looks of it, Thor hasn’t been paying attention because Jane kept pulling him along.

Steve, with his new earphones plugged into his ears, strolls through the clothing aisles and dummy stands, occasionally looking up at the store’s display without casual interest, but there was one that catches his eye. It’s red-maroon red with buttons that go all the way to the top, and it’s simple. Just how Steve preferred his clothes the way it is.

He pulls out a hand and feels the cloth between his fingers, unaware of his surroundings and a little distracted by the soft music ringing in his ears. How long he has been doing this for, he doesn’t know.

Tony comes up behind him and checks on Steve out of the blue, because malls don’t appeal to him and he would rather watch a stupid baseball game with anyone or anything to keep him up. He glances at Steve, to the shirt, then back to Steve again with Steve unaware.

“Earth to Cap, hey? Hello? Heyo?” Tony says, sounding like an embarrassingly first-grader.

Five seconds, and then Steve finally responds, “Tony?” He makes a mental note to himself to lower his music volume the next time a single person tries to get his attention, so he removes his left earphone off and drops his hand from the display shirt. “I thought you were with Bruce.”

“I sort of lost him?” Tony admits, clicking his teeth. “He texted me saying he bought himself some new pants, like five or six.” He peers to the left where a man with a camera is hiding behind a string of clothing racks, clearly attentive to their conversation, and Tony purses his lips.

“Cool, um,” Steve had expected this, but okay, fine, he sort of dislikes paparazzis.

“Are you thinking of buying this?” Tony asks as he slowly moves away from the rack, and Steve has no other choice but to follow him.

Steve thinks about it for a moment or two. _Trying it on wouldn’t hurt,_ he thinks. “Maybe, but I’ll try it on first.”

Tony puts on his glasses and says, “Awesome. Fantastic. I’ll wait by the changing room or something.”

While Steve occupies himself in the dressing room, Tony has been signing autographs, standing next to a group of families and gives a casual smile because today wasn’t just his day, he guesses. When it was all done, (Thank God) he turns to the stalls, sits down on a free chair and busies himself with his phone.

The stall door opens and there’s Steve wearing the maroon shirt, slightly tight around his arms that makes Tony look up from his phone. “What size are you?” he questions with curiosity.

In all honesty, ever since Steve’s gotten here, he never bothered to pay attention to his size. “Uh, medium?”

Tony stands and Steve watches as the other guy walks into the stall he was in. And then Tony’s hands are on Steve’s shirt checking the dangling tag. “This is _small_ ,” he  laughs, and Steve embarrassingly joins in.

He pauses, laughs again, and he shakes his head at himself. “Then I should get a dif-“ but he stops himself from finishing his sentence because Tony’s looking at him the way Tony shouldn’t be looking at him, and Steve feels his chest pounding for whatever reason.

 At that moment, Steve takes his time to shuffle an inch so that his back is turned away from the wall and Tony’s expression changes in an instant.

Before Steve splays a hand on Tony’s chest where the arc reactor was, or before he gently leans him against the wall, he takes his time to read Tony’s expression as to reading a book, calculating and experimenting his own thoughts and wondering if Tony’s thinking the same.

Tony is fully aware they’re standing inside a goddamn changing stall. For God’s sake, the door was still open but he doesn’t do anything about it.

 _I hate you_ , Steve doesn’t say, and then he’s bringing up his hands along Tony’s sides. _I hate your smile. I hate your lips. I hate the way you look at me._

His eyes are chocolate brown, hopeful, and Tony looks so, so young, and he’s staring at Steve like he’s a new creation of some sort, fixing him in ways and wanting to tell him, _You’re so much more than a fucking experiment bottle._

Tony opens his mouth. His eyes, longing for Steve lips non-verbally but he doesn’t say anything, and neither does Steve.

“Steve.” Tony cracks, his arc reactor humming.

Steve steadies himself, breathing rather heavily than he was two minutes ago. He fixes his eyes on Tony, as if saying, _You have someone else._

Then he lets go.

“I’ll-“ he starts, and then he breaks eye contact. “-go get another one.”

Even though Tony’s _yearning_ , _yearning_ for something, anything, he painfully nods at Steve without a word.

~*~

They don’t talk for a while after that. Yes, there were casual greetings between them and little conversations here and there but that was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

And it makes Tony want to hit something close to him, as in the nearest wall but he doesn’t because he is still in the goddamn mall and he wants out.

Tony follows Bruce instead as they head inside a robotics store, where he pays close attention to the mechanics behind it. Bruce tags along with him and he too, fondles with the merchandise that he finds so ‘endearing’.

To pass time, Steve ventures off by himself and walks past Clint and Darcy, not knowing where he would end up next.

“Where are you off to?” Darcy calls out behind him.

He pauses for a brief moment. “Uh, the photography area?” Steve replies.

“The what?”

Steve didn’t have to repeat himself because Darcy ran after him, anyway.

~*~

When the whole mall fiasco was over, everyone heads straight back to the Avengers Tower, thanks to Happy who was generous enough to give a ride.  Tony gives him a little praise because _Thank God_ , he’s finally out.

He steps inside along with Clint, Natasha and Bruce, and then the three of them goes in separate directions. Clint and Natasha make their way up the stairs, and Bruce is thinking a short nap would be ideal.

“—So then he asked me, ‘You look awfully familiar! Where are you from?’ And what was I _supposed_ to say? Christ.” Darcy says as she walks in with Jane, her hands flying in every direction to meet her point.

Behind the two ladies was Thor. His arms are occupied with two large bags plus he’s wearing a rather bright shirt that makes Tony’s eyes twitch a little.

Jane rounds the main floor with Darcy trailing behind her as she settles in the bags on the couch. “Then you should’ve told him _where_ you were from? It’s not that— Oh hello, Tony,” she pokes her head from the armchair, and Tony nods with a brief wave of his hand. “—Anyway, it’s not that hard!”

Tony decides to avoid this room as much as possible for today before Darcy breaks loose. Honestly, he hasn’t been thinking well today because for a moment, his head was about to explode in the most unpleasant way of possible, and he needs a drink. Scotch, wine, whatever. Any drink is fine.

He passes the kitchen, where he unintentionally ignores the fact that Steve was sitting on one of the stools inside because Tony is currently not thinking straight. Tony doesn’t even glance, nor ever paid attention to his surroundings. It’s a headache, and it’s a huge, painful one that edges Tony’s skull like a screwdriver.

“Tony,” someone calls out behind him, and he pauses for a brief moment but does not turn around.

And hey, it’s Steve.

Steve is holding a mug in his hands, his fingers curling around the cup as he holds it out towards Tony. “Take it,” the blonde says quietly, and Tony glances at Steve—to the cup—and then to the mug. “Bruce saved this for you before he uh—went.”

It’s a cup of lemon tea, brewed and steaming in his hands.

Tony hasn’t realized he had his eyes on the mug for too long, as if calculating what Steve’s attempting to do here instead of looking at him directly in the face. Silence lingers in the air before Tony blurts out, lips twitching, and finally staring back at Steve.

“Awesome, but it’s fine. I don’t need it. Tell Bruce he’s mighty awesome for me, though.” His mouth retorts with strain, and he pinches his lip with his teeth as he watches Steve’s expression slightly changes.

Steve slowly takes back the mug, agonizingly and awkwardly slow. Tony has no other choice but to stay silent, which has become increasingly clear that Tony has not been talking much as he usually does.

He looks down at the cup he’s holding again, and then he shakes his head. “What’s gotten into you today?” and Tony covers himself up by saying, “Headache. Plain, and simple,” and walks to the door again, his head pounding.

“I have something to get rid of it.” Steve offers, searching his pockets for a sign of something.

“Steve,” Tony interrupts him. “Thanks for that, but it’s nothing. I’m dandy and well. _”_ He ignores how hard his head his throbbing as he speaks. From the looks of it, Steve is not convinced. “Aside from that, dear ol’ Cap, I’m going to show you something.”

Steve purses his lips. “Tony, I can’t just leave _this_ here.” He points out flatly, referring to the mug he was holding. 

 _Right, okay._ Tony might as well whirl around, snatch the mug from Steve’s hands and drink the steaming pools of green halfway, despite how much it would burn his throat due to the sudden chug.

So he does.

“Done,” Tony says triumphantly as he wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Steve gives a satisfied nod and tucks the mug back to the counter. His head is still racking, but not as much as it was before anymore.

“Now, where were we?” Steve questions with his brow raised, content as he ever was.  Tony manages to hide a smile that could read as if saying, _You’re really cute, you know. Cute, as in stupidly cute._

“Right. Uh—It’s down by the workshop. It’s technically not a spaced-out room but sort of a shed. ” Tony finally says before he turns and leads the way with Steve trailing behind him.

“Okay. What about it?” Steve asks curiously.

“I found stuff that you _may_ like. You—“ Tony briefly turns on his heel to face Steve, pointing at him so that he starts walking backwards along the spacious hallway. “—can thank me later.”

“And what stuff, exactly?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“I’m allowed to as--"

“I’m not giv—“

“Make a right.” Steve says resolutely ahead of time so Tony doesn’t end up hitting his back against the wall, which Tony listens, and now they are both nearing the workshop.

As Tony searches for a pair of keys in the workshop, Steve lingers by the entrance and studies the brilliant blue coming off from the transparent computers and wireless screens that hang in the air. Most of the time, he would stick up a finger and touch the holograms without Tony looking.

Of course Tony notices, even though his head is searing in pain, thrashing his skull like a rock. He rummages the drawers, opening one by one, and then spots a set of pills. Pepper had given this to him before she left. He stashes the tiny bottle inside his pocket and takes out the keys.

He pushes the drawer in using his back and returns to the entrance, only to see Steve petting Dummy by the door. Tony thinks Steve has lost it. 

“Hi,” Tony sidles in as he brushes the holograms away. “Didn’t mean to interrupt—but cool, Dummy likes you.”

Dummy makes a whirring sound while the bot stirs lazily and tilting its neck under Steve’s touch. Tony is sort of smiling at the back.

“I think he wants to play cards.” Steve adds as he falters his hand.

“I’ve been there. Done that,” Tony quips. He steps towards the door to his right and slips in the key. “He doesn’t like it when he loses. It may or may not be a pretty sight.”

Steve peers at the door and watches as Tony comes inside. “Right here,” Tony beckons, shuffling and setting boxes aside. The room is a bit too tight but it’s fine. Boxes and stacks of large paper are strewn on the ground, and pencils sit on one of the tables, disarranged. It’s a small office that can suitably fit for one person.

“Is this where you usually work?” Steve steps over a package box, careful enough to not stumble hit the stack of papers, or books, whatever.

“I go in here two to three times a month?” Tony replies as he bends over to pick up a medium-sized box and drops it on the ground near Steve. “Honestly, I hate this room. I haven’t paid attention on fixing it.” He stands up straight only to realize Steve looks like fucking _giant_ just standing in this room. Hell, it makes all the objects around Steve look tiny compared to his size.

Steve studies the bulletin board hanging on the wall in front of him. Messy writings were scribbled on crumbled papers being _It must have been all Tony’s_ , he thinks. After a while, he turns, and accidentally knocks his elbow against a pile of CDs.

Steve mutters “Uh, crap,” which amused Tony at some point, and then he goes on, “Sorry.”

Tony waves a hand dismissively, saying it’s fine, before he hands him the box that was intended for Steve.

“What’s this?”

“Take a look.”

As Steve starts opening the box, Tony pops a pill onto his hand, brings it to his mouth, and swallowed. The pain has been easing down a bit, but then he remembers he hadn’t got a drink yet. Tony looks up and catches Steve’s gaze, and for a moment, they stared at each other.

The box contained artistic pencil sets, kneaded erasers, thin paintbrushes, and charcoal.

It’s quiet before Steve speaks, “Are you giving this to me?”

“I’ve kept that for years,” Tony explains. “Stowed away and acted as if it was nothing. Someone _gave_ it to me, years back, but I didn’t need it.”

“Dandy.” Steve says out of the blue, and Tony barks a laugh because he kind of needed it from the moment the day started. Steve lets out a breathy laugh that makes Tony’s stomach twist in a knot.

“I’ve heard about—your talent, so I considered to—“

“Thank you, Tony.” Steve finally says. He’s grinning, and Tony doesn’t bother with the headache because Steve has been distracting him lately.

Tony still thinks Steve is a very huge distraction, a distraction that makes him laugh like an idiot.

And he doesn’t forget the dressing room. 


	5. Chapter 5

 

“Fuck witches. I hate witches.” Clint says as he fixes his eyes on the screen in front of him while his thumbs works on the game controller. There’s a cry from the game screen followed by a screech, then to more screeches, and Clint groans.

Tony sits on the stool by the counter with Bruce walking in with a tired yawn.

“Morning, Tony.” Bruce mumbles into his cup. Tony turns on his stool and hands him a fork.

“Tip,” Tony says through his toast. “You have two options. Either be a gentleman and walk past them, or be a dumbass and poke the witch until she cries some more, which could lead to your death.”

“Is she always like that?” Clint asks incredulously, craning his head while Steve passes through Clint’s vision with a plate full of pancakes. Tony shrugs as he reaches in for Steve’s plate.

“First pineapples and now this. Huh.” Tony gives Steve a skeptical look and then he smirks.

“I’m actually sharing this for the team,” Steve states contently. He grabs the nearest stool and positions himself across the counter so that he faces Tony, where Bruce also helped himself with Steve’s plates, and then walks off to watch Clint’s game.

It’s seven in the morning and Tony’s thinking that Steve’s hair is a little rumpled at the side and he’s looking a lot like a happy morning person that makes Tony’s lip twist upwards, maybe. He also notices that little morning dirt between Steve’s eyes, which the other guy doesn’t notice.

“Cap. There’s ah—“ Tony gestures to where the thing is at, and then there’s Steve who is looking at him funny until he catches what he’s saying and quickly cleaning it off.

Anyway, he likes this Steve.

Tony starts to lean in for the cup of coffee sitting past Steve’s shoulder until there’s Clint who had just recently paused the game, blatantly takes the coffee in his hand and brings it with him back to the couch. Tony blinks—blinks at Steve—then behind his shoulder at Clint.

“That was really _uncalled_ for.” Tony expresses in mocked hurt, and Steve laughs silently. “Emphasis on the uncalled.”

“Oh—this was yours?” Clint says into his cup one-handedly as Bruce scoots in on the other end of the couch, watching intently and occasionally saying, “Witch.”

Tony rolls his eyes and bites into his toast again because Clint is Clint and Bruce is Bruce, which then he notices the two of them work well together when it comes to video games and such, especially Left 4 Dead.

“Where are Thor and Natasha?” Steve asks as he smears jam on his toast with a butter-knife.

Tony scratches the back of his neck and leans his head against his right arm. “Thor’s away with Jane again probably, and Natasha-, uh, no one knows.” He drums his fingers on the counter because woo, what else is new, while Steve chews on his food.  
He hears Bruce discussing tactics about the game and it all kind of drums smoothly to his head.

Everyone is talking. (Except Steve.)

Also, there’s a buzz from his phone tucked inside his pocket, so Tony goes and checks it.

It’s a new message: ‘ _Morning, Tony! 2/3 meetings done. Thank goodness. I’ll call you later, okay? – Pep.’_

And, okay, he’s glad she’s been keeping in touch, and he misses her. But at the same time, it hurts every time he thinks about it because it’s—not about Steve, maybe—not about Steve at all. He still feels like shit because plenty of things, most of which that includes Steve, have been going in his mind lately and he just wants to slow down.

“—can’t be bothered and I’m still snapping my fingers,” says Bruce as he wills himself to stand up. He goes on repeatedly, “Tony. Tony.”

Aside from hearing the sound of Steve shuffling plates on his chair and the cries of anguish coming off from Clint’s game, Tony looks up. He stares at Bruce and tugs a fixed, shit-eating but convincing grin because it’s all he can do. “Brucey,” he drawls. “You were calling?”

“I was supposed to ask you for a new plate but—“

“A plate.” Tony says, and Steve’s still chewing on his food.

“Yes, a plate. It’s—“

“Here,” Steve says, extending an arm to the cupboards in one simple movement, and Tony finds himself observing the bottom of Steve’s shirt pulling up a bit, giving a view of his waist.

Which then Bruce pads across Clint’s view and takes it from Steve’s hand. “Thanks.”

Tony stands and shells his phone into his pocket. “You’re in a good mood,” he says from behind Steve’s shoulder.

There’s a tiny smile on Steve’s face as he drinks his coffee. “You can say that I am.”  
He turns his head and watches as Tony fills his cup with hot water.

Tony asks, “Good sleep?” because spicing up a morning conversation with Steve wouldn’t hurt, and it’s quarter until eight,

“It’s getting better,” Steve admits. “And uh-” He glances down at his cup, absently rubs the holder, and then he continues, “I’ve been experimenting with the supplies last night. I’m still on with painting but I was thinking—“

Tony shoots up his eyebrows and splays a hand on his chest mockingly. “You’re going to paint _me?_ Well, I’ll _be_ , that’s—“

“—if you have bigger paper.”

“What?”

“What?” Steve echoes.

Clint snorts from the couch. Tony suddenly has an urge to whack him with something.

“Paint,” Tony says, amused. He takes in Steve’s expression, and his mouth is forming a tiny ‘o’ over the rim of his cup, confused. “Nevermind. It’s fine.”

“Oh!” Steve’s voice cracks into realization. “No, I meant to ask if you have ah-“ Steve pauses as he lands his eyes on Tony.

Tony chuckles into his coffee. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Okay.” Steve says, at last.

“Okay.”

“ _So_ ,” Clint quips in as he stuffs the controller back to where it came from, followed by Bruce. “I heard—“

“Clint, you forgot the wires,” Bruce interjects with his eyes peeled to his cup.

“Could y—“

The sound of the alarm blaring throughout the Tower interrupts him; a familiar one everyone knows of, which gets Clint on his feet, and Bruce hurriedly putting the cup down on the counter.

“Avengers Assemble!” says Steve, as he immediately starts moving. He almost trips over the controller wire, thanks to Clint. “Clint, what the heck!” and Clint just says, “Sorry.”

Tony snorts from the back.

-

“On your five o’clock, Cap,” Iron Man zooms past the serpent-like gigantic leech and gives himself a boost to hover above the horrific creature, and Tony makes a face because it really is disgusting.

It’s similar to the Midgard Serpent from two months ago, except it’s faster, and the thing shoots venomous slime from its nauseating mouth, which, Steve uses the shield to prevent himself from getting hit. Also, it has taken down three buildings so far.

“What the fuck is this thing,” Hawkeye yells from a window ledge. He shoots his arrow towards the leech that was jumping towards Black Widow’s direction, and Hulk comes thrashing in, tossing sharp chunks on the road to hit the creature’s eyes.

Iron Man generates and soars backwards, merely missing the slime and blasting the repulsors from both hands to clear Cap’s path. “Think of it this way, it’s a caterpillar. An angry—“

“It’s a leech,” Widow says flatly over the speaker as she leaps past the railing and past the police cars, then chucking out her guns.

“—An angry caterpillar,” Iron Man ignores. He sweeps towards a building and ushers children to evacuate before slamming his third ‘caterpillar’ of the day. “Its atrocious and utterly—“

“—dreadful,” says Cap sourly behind one of the stained taxi cabs and Tony smirks. “Hawkeye, check down the perimeter on Kingston road a block away from the hospital. Inform and escort civilians out of the way!” he orders, before turning to see a leech- round mouth snarling and its teeth gnawed-coming down his way.

“Bad leech,” Hulk growls as he strikes a fist on the upcoming leech in front of Cap. It screeches with its mouth hanging, flopping aback and rolls past the streetlights. Cap, eyes wide, nods. “Thanks,” he says breathlessly.

In reach, Iron Man glides towards Hawkeye to give him a ride and drops him by the rooftops.

Widow stands on a cab, arms out, and taking down the smaller creatures. “How many more are there?” she says over the sound of the rubbles tumbling about. It’s flying all over the place, crashing against glass windows.

“Two over-sized caterpillars,” Iron Man examines the holographic layout before his eyes, marking his targets and finding the distance range. “-followed by its three kids. They’re almost their size, which is odd as fuck.”

Cap wipes his face, dirty and bruised, but that could heal any time now. It doesn’t stop him from jumping on cars one by one. “You sure they are kids, Iron Man?” he tosses his shield to protect a screaming civilian across the road.

“Youngsters. Cubs. Chicks,” Iron Man points out blandly as he lands a distance beside Cap, just in time for the younger leeches to come over, and Cap looks at him, nodding as a signal.

“Hit me,” Cap finally says, and Iron Man aims at the star imprinted on his shield, and Steve uses this as an advantage to maneuver the repulsor rays to take down the gnarly creatures, where in the end, Tony blurts, “Leeches are overrated.”

Cap wipes his brow using his forearm, smiling wryly to himself. “If you say so, Tony.”

And Tony’s mouth twists at the fact that Steve called him by his name in the middle of a battlefield, which he thinks, he could get used to this. It’s fine for him, anyway.  
The ground shakes, and the Hulk is stomping down the street to lure the mother leech.

“Puny,” the Hulk spits, no matter how large the creature is.

Tony stares down at Cap and suggests, “Running is also overrated. Let’s go for a ride.”

Cap, in the middle of latching the shield to his arm, replies, “You’re giving me a free flight?”

“No charge,” Tony says with a dry smile.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to wrap an arm around Iron Man to keep himself up and not falling because he hates flying. Iron Man keeps Cap secure, holding him assuredly because he knows what Steve was thinking. “Alley-oop,” Iron Man says, and Cap almost chuckles out of breath.

They soar over the remains of the road, littered bricks strewn on the stained sidewalk and lands where Widow is. Nobody checks for the time because one could not think properly with the Hulk throwing effective punches so that there was enough to knock the leech out and Hawkeye fighting by his side.

Iron Man hovers up again, leaving Cap instructing with Widow. “Hulk, take down the mother leech from behind while Hawkeye and I will be carrying on by the front.”

“Awesome. We’ll take care of the mouth.” Hawkeye adds.

Cap turns to Widow and glances up at Iron Man. “You and Iron Man can take the other one since it’s already injured. I’ll notify over the earpiece if ours won’t come down knocking.”

Widow loads her gun and clicks it to place. “I doubt it, Captain.”

The group parts then squanders off to the two remaining leeches. Tony considers the other one as the ‘daddy’, the angry daddy caterpillar.

“This guy’s crippled,” he says. The creature’s neck follows Tony’s path, like a dog chasing a cat’s tail. It reveals its mouthful of gigantic sharp teeth and it cries out as Tony flings a shot at its eyes, followed by another blast from his chest.

The leech spurts slime that catches Iron Man’s arm, and _fuck, it’s going to sting_. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters.

Widow positions herself behind a car door with a gun. She closes one eye, hoping to give the creature hell. _Aim for the eyes_.

It wails and thrashes and squirms on the road that Iron Man quickly dodges himself away from the leech to prevent further damage. “Was that your shot?” he calls over to Widow, arms wide, and grinning behind the mask. She gives him a flat shrug but her lip is curling into a smirk.

The creature lands on its back as if wheezing for something and lands on the ground with a hard impact, causing large rocks to fly into mid-air.

“Goddamn,” Iron Man mumbles. He lands and takes a look at his iron arm, watching the poison slowly injecting through the armor, and—whoa, the effect isn’t supposed to be this strong. He blinks- blinks again- it stings- but he manages to steady himself.

Widow comes up behind him and puts a hand on Iron Man’s left arm. “It’s seeping to your skin,” she says . Tony just shrugs it off and shakes his head, so he only replies with, “It’s nothing.”

They eventually take on the mother leech with Cap, Hulk and Hawkeye, pressing on to the creature until it turns weak and dead, and this was more of a stall than the previous one. Except, Tony hasn’t been doing his left arm to much use. It’s numb, he thinks. It has gotten numb to the point where his skin feels like it’s burning and—

“Sir, Miss Pepper Potts is on the line,” Jarvis notifies. He sees her on the screen.

“Uh,” Tony blinks heavily. “Okay. Get her on the line.” For a moment, he’s closing his eyes for too long before—

“Watch out!” someone says, and it sounds like Clint. Steve?

And something hard hits his back, the line is still working, though, because Pepper’s voice is coming off from the other line, “Tony?”

He’s lying on the ground, chest pressing against stone, and he coughs. “Pep-hey,” he sputters, tasting bile on his lip.

“Oh, god. I called at the wrong time, didn’t I? What happened, are you in the middle of—“

“Yeah, but,” he uses his right hand to heave himself up and sees Steve going to his direction. “It’s over. God, these uh, goddamn leeches. Have you seen them? Christ, ” he says, half-hazed. He removes his faceplate and breathes in.

Before he knew it, Steve is putting Tony’s uninjured arm around his neck to help him up. His face is caked with dirt and sweat. “We’ll have to take care of that arm before it spreads,” he says, and Tony looks at him wordlessly.

~*~

Tony’s arm is throbbing, and he’s glaring down at it like it’s an equation sorted in the wrong order, a puzzle with broken pieces, and it’s a sad, sad thing.

He’s on the couch with the others. Clint is bandaging Natasha’s arm by the stools, and Steve is sitting on a chair across Tony, who’s carrying a piece of white cloth and a bowl of cold water and soap.

“Sit still, Tony,” Steve says patiently for the second time, because Tony keeps twitching every time his hands come in contact with his left arm.  
“I’m not moving,” Tony remarks wittily as he watches Steve running the cold cloth down his arm. It’s a gentle movement, but his knee is somewhat fidgeting against the couch and Steve gives him a look. Tony returns the offer by making a face.

“You know,” Steve starts, dabbing the cloth in the bowl, “if you don’t stop—“

“—moving, I know,” Tony finishes it off with a pointed look, and then he’s chuckling to himself, wryly. “Pep’s going to hound me once she comes back.” He moves his head back against the couch because his head feels heavy and he wants—coffee.

Steve looks at him with his head down, chuckling, “Hound you,” he repeats quietly.

“Yeah, like hound-“ Tony tries to make a gesture with his free hand.

“I think I get that reference,” Steve says as he reaches over to rub the cloth up to Tony’s shoulder.

Tony snorts, threading his fingers through his dark hair and touching his bruised cheek. Once in a while, he would gaze at Steve silently so that all he could hear is the sound of dripping water on cloth. He glances at Clint and Natasha but they don’t make a sound, either.

“You still need that paper?” he says after a moment’s pause. Tony thinks back to the amount of stacks he have downstairs, untouched and filled with pencil marks and abandoned blueprints. He could picture Steve taking a bunch of them, adding his own touches to it.

“Oh,” Steve remembers, “yeah, I’d like that, actually,” and he smiles, “I’ll probably start tonight if nothing’s coming up,”

“Yeah?” Tony tilts his head to the side, and then he glances behind his shoulder, to Clint and Natasha by the corner before he speaks up, voice lowering, “How long does it usually take you to- do your thing?”

And sure, Tony has heard of Steve’s skills, especially the fact that Steve used to attend an art school based on the SHIELD documents. Or, he may have known this ever since he was kid back then, but in all thoughts aside-

“It depends on the drawing. I mean- I don’t really have a specific time limit,” Steve says as he fists the damp cloth in his hand to allow it to soak off into the bowl, and then he looks up at Tony. “There was a time though, back in art school, we had to uh, paint a portrait of anyone or anything, so I finally decided on something,” he bows his head down and laughs quietly to himself. “I paced around the room for colours and I just kept knocking supplies over tables by accident.”

Tony bites on his bottom lip to stifle a laugh. “Golly gee, Steve Rogers. Clumsy as always, am I right or am I right?”

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve replies, but he’s sort of smiling. “anyway, the whole thing didn’t end up so great. I stalled a lot on it, due to the ah, accidents I had to fix alone.”

“Should’ve proved them wrong, Cap. Like, I don’t know, toss paint on people or something to get them to help,” Tony says, his face lighting up. He’s fidgeting his leg again because his arm’s starting to get itchy.

Steve picks up a dry cloth and wipes Tony’s arm, “That wouldn’t help, either. I didn’t mind it, anyway.” he compresses the cloth on his skin and eyes Tony in a careful way to get him to listen. “No itching,” was all Steve said.

“Noted,” Tony says with his usual Stark grin, and Steve feels like jumping through a ring of fire but he doesn’t because it’s impractical and stupid, so he takes a rolled bandage and wraps it around the injured arm.

“It’s blotchy,” Tony says in mild disgust, making a face. He leans over and watches the way Steve’s hands make sure he covers every little spot.

“It may last a week, Tony. That is, if you don’t scratch at all.”

“Then this week will tempt me to no end so God help me.”

“Ah. Sounds painful.”

Steve cuts off the end of the bandage and tucks the finished piece onto Tony’s skin. “Done,” he says, sounding a little proud of himself.

Tony takes a good look of his arm as he tries to lift it and he notices that it’s slightly heavier than it was before but he can manage. “Neat,” he says dully, glancing around the room to see Clint and Natasha gone, and okay, that’s weird.

Meanwhile, Steve places the cloth back to the bowl, who is apparently caught up in putting it all back together and Tony thinks this may be his source of distraction.

So, Tony stays on the couch where he is, same spot, and not moving, except for his fingers signaling Steve to look up. “It’s fine. I’ll put it back later.”

And then Tony fingers starts twitching like he’s in need for something, probably an urge to scratch his arm. He makes a little move where his hand lays an inch close to the bandage.

Steve raises a brow at him and says, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Tony grumbles under his breath as a response.

Steve stands and leaves the bowl where it is, only having to stop himself when Tony starts with, “Hey Cap,” and Tony shoots his hand to his arm in a peeling gesture, which Steve coils his fingers around Tony’s free wrist and putting it back down. “Made you look,” Tony barks a laugh.

“You’re very stubborn, did you know that?” Steve says sharply, like he’s about to punch Tony in the guts even though he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Uh, yeah. Been told from two thousand people. As a matter of fact, I can count them all.”

“Listen—“ Steve starts, but Tony doesn’t hear him the first time because cold water has just spilled on his pants. That doesn’t stop Steve from trying to get his attention, so he goes with another method.

“Awesome,” Tony adds sarcastically because an ice cube is currently sliding down his leg.

And before Tony could even set the bowl down, Steve is leaning into him so Tony’s face is close to his, and his hand comes to rest on the back of the couch beside Tony’s head. Tony looks up at the larger man, as if studying what Steve’s going to do next.

He knows this now.

Steve is slightly leaning into Tony against the spot he was on, his hands sliding up to the brunette’s jaw and keeping it there. _Wait, how did this happen_ —

They kiss, and it’s slow, patient, and delicate that makes Tony’s insides light on fire. His mouth is warm, he thinks, soon going blank as Steve minimizes the space between their chests. He’s careful enough to not break the connection like glass, and Tony has no other choice but to lean back, eyes closing.

He feels Steve’s fingers ghosting down his chest, past the arc reactor’s edges, and lingers on his ribs. He can hear Steve exhale shakily through his nose and he smells like rain on fresh-cut grass, or rain on empty streets after a storm and—Tony can’t describe it, but it’s something.

Whether this is Steve’s first kiss or not, he does a damn good job at it, Tony thinks.

The corner of Tony’s lips twist, and Steve doesn't know If Tony's smiling or not. And Tony splays a hand on the back of Steve’s neck, curling his fingers through his blonde hair, and makes a muffled groan against the press of Steve's lips, which, Tony thinks, sounded embarrassing.

They don't count how long they have been doing this for, but soon enough, their lips slowly part, their eyes are still closed, and the little space between them is still quite there.

Tony blinks. "Uh."

"Okay." Steve says blankly, completely out of topic.

There's a pause before Steve speaks.

“Are you going to put it back yet?” and he chuckles because it’s such a stupid question about the goddamn bowl.

Tony makes a face, and slowly grins. “Nah. I can’t move since I pissed my pants a little.” He refers to the cold water dripping down his dark jeans.

“You’re kind of a moron,” Steve replies in a flat tone while his fingers graze along Tony’s jaw.

Tony’s mouth forms an ‘o’ like he’s been mortally hurt, saying, “I’ll have you know, that I built three—“

“—Shut up.” Steve chortles before he briefly plants his lips to Tony’s once more, and Tony uses his free hand to tug on Steve's shirt to pull the man down along with him.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

The day after the battlefield and its unexpected amounts of twists and turns, Steve may or may not have been thinking ever since the last night took place. 

It was nice, actually. It really was. But there was a tug in his stomach, little did Tony know, while everything happened. A tug so unfamiliar, but Steve didn't want to stop himself. All the while, it was passionate, short, and sensitive, and it made him feel different, in a way. 

But Tony is Tony, and goddamn, the man knew how to twist Steve’s stomach, and quite exhausted, at the least.

 _“I’m gonna take off my pants,”_ Tony had said once last night.

Steve remembers himself coughing, and sputtering out, _“What?”_

_“It’s wet!”_

_“It can dry?”_

_“The whole bowl fell. I feel like I’m sitting on my own piss, which is highly—“_

_“Still a moron.”_

Steve doesn’t forget the night that it happened when he’s sitting in a room across the door from Tony’s workshop, graphite pencil and sketchbook in hand and not paying attention to his surroundings. He’s sitting on a wide couch, positioned beside the glass door windows and facing a flat screen TV. 

He doesn’t touch the remote control because it’s located at the far end from where he’s sitting.

It’s quiet and he wants to draw something that could get him distracted.

He thinks of a dark color, pooled with black and faint lines of silver. Dark brown, Steve thinks. That can work, too. He thinks of a shape that is bound to form. It’s supposedly slick around the edges, but soft as if he would thread his fingers through the short strands—

Hair.

Steve starts with hair and he makes sure to outline every little detail he can remember, and it isn’t all that quiet anymore because there is the sound of pencil scratching against fine paper, the movement of Steve’s hands brushing against it, and the noise of rubbing erasers. 

He’s halfway done when he realizes, _It’s Tony’s._

And Steve’s lips quirk upwards at the thought.

~*~

Tony’s in the garage for as long as he could remember, accompanied by Dummy, and occasionally handing the necessary tools Tony needed.

“Gonna treat you real good, sweetheart,” he says to his black-coated Acura, patting the car’s front snout.

He spins the stubby, metallic wrench in his hand, knees bent, and crouches by the left wheel for a good look. And sure, nothing seems to be wrong just by talking to your own car, but hey, Tony’s cars are his babies, and he’s going to continue treating them like precious gold.

“Wheels are fine, ” Tony mutters to himself. “Dummy, pass– no, don’t pass. Roll- or drag- the cross wrench, would you?”

Because the last time he asked for it, the bot nearly tore Tony’s head open, which, thankfully enough, didn’t happen. It wasn’t at all pleasant. 

Dummy scoots away from the corner and nudges the cross wrench sitting on the floor. It nudges again using its mouth clippers, and Tony tilts his head.

Tony stands, fingers coming through his damp hair (thanks to accidentally bumping into the emergency shower earlier), and walks to the bot. “Nudging it won’t do, babycakes,” he drawls sarcastically as he picks the wrench from the floor. “Good effort, though.” He pats Dummy’s head, hearing it whir as a response. 

He returns to the car again and slips underneath it to examine the car engine, beginning to accumulate thoughts in his mind, calculating, experimenting, wanting to focus—other than picturing the hot press of Steve’s lips the other night—other than the thought of Pepper busying herself during calls—and it’s impossible. 

It’s impossible to clear his head because his hands are gripping the cross wench, eyes going blank, facing the bottom of the car. He’s distracted. His bandaged arm makes him feel twitchy. 

He thinks of Steve. What could he be possibly doing? And then the next, he fills in mechanical equations, to nonsense expressions, and to variables. He slots in Steve, like a variable that has been missing, as if sorting out a mixed equation and Tony wants to fix it in any way to prove himself, I got this. I got this right, and I know what to do.

 _It’s you._ Tony pauses. _And I’m into you._

He twists the wrench in his hands and grips it for so long to get his mind working. 

~*~

The first time Tony sees Steve after coming out from the garage, he accidentally shoves against Steve’s shoulder as he’s in the middle of rounding the hallway and nearly drops the cup of coffee from his hands. 

Tony starts off, “I think you got in the wa—“ 

“You got in the w—

“Not precisely.”

Steve chuckles and holds up a hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong—“

“You’re funny,” Tony says flatly as he gently guides Steve’s back against the wall, and plants his lips to the other. He puts a hand on Steve’s hips, eventually sliding up to his waist where it needed to be squeezed that leaves Steve flushing breathlessly once the two of them pull apart.

Steve stares at him, suddenly feeling warm down his neck, and just as Tony was about to lay a hand on his shoulder, Steve takes a step away from the wall and begins ambling down the corridor with a tiny smile on his face.

“Where you heading?” Tony calls behind Steve, inserting a hand in his pocket.

“Out for a run!” he replies without looking back, and Tony couldn’t help but narrow his eyes down at the loose gym shorts Steve is wearing, and that ridiculously tight t-shirt showing off every inch of his abdomen and chest.

Tony goes after him in a mid-jog following beside him, and makes hand gestures to suggest something. “Uh, how about a ride? It’s quicker.” 

“I don’t think I need a ride,” Steve side-pans as he makes his way down the ground floor but he allows Tony to follow along because it would be nice, and he continues, “It’s fine. I can run.” 

“Super-soldier routines, I see.” Tony notes, passing by Bruce, and then pauses in his tracks. “The weather may be shitty, you know. Just a heads-up.” 

Steve glances at Tony, who’s in the middle of opening a water bottle in his hand, looking content and rather pleased. “You can come if you want,” he says, giving Tony a knowing look. 

Tony half-snorts but it’s fake and stupid because sure, he could go, even with Steve. Running down the block would be fine. Passing by the people and paparazzis, that’s fine, too. Having Steve outrun him in the middle of something and leaving Tony standing by the streetlamp, panting and heaving, would be embarrassing but he doesn’t mention it.

For a moment he gives a second thought to it, leaving Steve lingering by the main door and waiting for Tony’s response. “So, are you g-“

“If I take part in a hit and run, I’m leaving it on you,” Tony mumbles after him, and Steve just shakes his head as he steps out the door.

The weather’s fine, and ridiculously bright for a time like this, especially in the middle of an afternoon. Steve squints his eyes once he turns to the sidewalk, and Tony glances around the block. 

“You’re not going to change?” Steve asks, stepping towards Tony. 

“Not at all,” Tony replies, because he’s wearing a dark tank top and sweatpants, which, he thinks it would be suitable. 

So Steve starts by pointing towards the few blocks ahead, just past the nearest park, and he tells Tony a future heads-up to stay away from the left path to avoid crowds. He navigates the certain spot in that area if a break is needed, which is close to the lampposts. 

Tony raises a brow “Do you have all these things noted in some agenda because I’m quite impressed.” He begins jumping in one spot and shifts his feet from left to right. 

“No, I just remember things--,” Steve gives Tony a side-eye as he holds back a chuckle. “Tony, what are you doi-“

“Just warming up.”

“Okay.” Steve grins.

“Uh-huh.”

Steve laughs, anyway, because Tony is still at it, moving actively on one spot, and gives Steve a look, which he ridiculously finds it massively adorable and stupid, then Tony finally stops once Steve’s laughter has died down. 

Tony looks up at him and puts a hand on his shoulder, and his mouth is leaning dangerously close to Steve’s neck, so he murmurs, “That wasn’t very nice, Cap.”

Steve can feel him smiling against his neck and his warm breath hitting his skin. “It’s just one of those days,” he says smoothly to Tony’s ear before he pulls back and gives him a daring look. 

Tony feels his ear prickling. “I swear to God, Steve, I-“ but he stops because Steve’s already jogging down the lane, leaving Tony sputtering and still standing by the tower’s entrance. 

“We don’t have all day,” Steve grins, looking back at him without stopping, and Tony forces himself to quit being such an easy person, so he runs off after him until the two of them move in the same pace. 

Tony looks up at Steve, who’s looking mindset, eyes fixed on the road ahead of him, his arms synchronizing his every step, and Tony wonders if he ever slipped on a banana peel whatsoever. They pass by a bakery shop, and Tony takes a whiff from its scent while jogging down the sidewalk.

“You know,” Steve starts, glancing at Tony, and he doesn’t even pant or huff and puff, “there’s a little café at the other end of the park,” he directs his eyes towards the way and suggests, “we can go there whenever.”

“Yeah, okay- but getting hoarded? That’s no fun,”

“Um-“

Tony snorts, “No, I kid. Eh, we can always sneak from the back or whatever.”

“-if there’s a passage.”

“A dark tunnel.”

Steve half-chuckles as he shuffles to the right to pass a pedestrian, who is clearly attentive to the local newspaper and has not noticed Tony and Steve coming along. Tony thinks this may be a good way to start the afternoon because there is no world-saving situations at last minute, and no business things to handle.

He misses his workshop, and he thinks of Pep—

“Tony, you’re currently very close to running into a street pole,” Steve puts an arm behind Tony’s back and shifts to the left, eyes lit, and chortling. 

“Ah,” Tony breathes, and he snaps his thoughts back to place. “Kudos for the save. I swear I’m not drunk.” 

“I prefer it that way. And you’re standing on both feet. I think you’re fine,” Steve replies, unhooking his arm, and looking at Tony.

 _Definitely,_ Tony lies, and it’s self-conflicting and stupid, “Hey, I’m not always drunk,” he states plainly with a smirk. 

Steve stops in his tracks, and may have leaned in to Tony in a way that looks too close from someone’s view standing from afar, and then he’s murmuring loud enough for Tony to hear, “That’s very good. You—like this-,” Steve tells him, “-I like that.”

Tony lifts his gaze, and he tries not to smile too much. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Not Iron Man, not the type of guy from page four on the Forbes magazine, you’re just-“ he pauses, and Tony blinks like he has been caught off-guard until Steve continues, “-just Tony Stark, and I like that.”

Tony strains himself from sliding a hand down Steve’s hip to keep his body close to his, but he doesn’t forget the fact that they’re outside in public, and he knows exactly of what would happen. “Cool. I like you, too.”

“Dandy,” Steve whispers before he lets go, and Tony does the same as he absently rubs the back of his neck with his hand. He’s relieved the feeling was mutual, and it twists his chests in a way that he can’t put his finger on. 

And then the next, Steve is staring at the road while Tony stands beside him, and all is quiet until the cars are coming in from the other block.

Awesome. Tony turns to Steve and points his thumb towards the direction of the park. “We should-“

“-Before we get hounded. Good idea,” Steve adds.

A car honks across from them, and the front window rolls down for the driver to pump his fist in the air triumphantly, yelling, “Hey, look who it is!” which causes other heads to turn around. 

Steve grins and turns to lead again with Tony running to catch up to him. He wills himself to move in a faster pace, in case for the shit-eating crowd that’s bound to hoard over when the time comes, but Steve is still faster than him, and okay, that’s fine. 

He’s sort of panting once they reach the track by the open field of the park. He sees rich green, barren trees. The atmosphere’s quiet, and boiling, and he may start sweating anytime soon while Steve is looking around at every direction and glancing at Tony once every few times. 

“Tired?” Steve finally says, still jogging, and huffing a little but not as often. 

Tony narrows his eyes, the side of his lips cornering. “I have a particular feeling this question will continuously be brought up once every ten minutes, Capsicle.”

Steve brings a hand to cover his squinting eyes as he looks up and wrinkles his nose. “We can run to Starbucks to avoid the hassle, or deal with the crowd just-“ he turns his head to the view in front of them and continues slowly, “-over there.” 

“Huh.” Tony falters his pace, his eyebrows knitting, and then from one moment to the next, he cocks his head and nudges Steve’s shoulder. “Sneak past those trees and outrun them. Easy as that.” 

It’s a fair distance away from them where a group of trees are hunched over in one area, and families with their children on the other, but truth to be told, Steve would not mind if they ever catch up to him. Shrugging, he jogs on one place and waits for Tony to move. 

So the two of them race to the trees, close to the oak tree, and Tony thinks he hasn’t ran like this—if anything—for quite a while. With Steve right ahead of him, he urges himself to go in a quicker pace, or if he could just spring a little bit more, he will be there first. 

“Uh, Tony?” Steve mumbles without looking from side to side, and Tony grunts as a response, “how much do you want to bet they’re looking at us right now?” 

“Five,” Tony pants as he jumps over a soccer ball. He quickly glances at Steve, whose hair is slightly all over the place. 

Not until his phone starts to ring deep in his pocket. Without stopping, he hastily takes out his cell—not even glancing at the number-- as he nears the trees. “—Hey! Tony Stark here,” he tries not to pant, “-to what do I owe you this pleasure?” 

“Tony? It's me,” The voice says with a chuckle, and it takes a few seconds for Tony to realize; it’s Pepper.

“Right!” Tony says, his voice cracking a little, “how’s it going? Look, I’m sorry I had to cut you off yesterday. It was sort of an e—“

“Your shoes are untied!” Steve calls out from the short distance, and Tony thinks he could have sworn Steve was just there running beside him a few seconds ago. 

“Was that Steve?” Pepper asks, and there’s a light shuffle coming off from the speakers.

Tony narrows his eyes at his shoes and its laces flying in every step. “Yes, yeah. No worries, he’s currently- I don’t know-“ He watches Steve bending over by the oak tree against the crowd’s view, his hands on both knees, and looking at Tony with a slow grin, “-he’s getting there.”

He slows down once he’s nearing the shade, and he tries to catch his breath once he gets there with Steve, who later on pats him on the back and shuffling close to him. Tony could hear Pepper’s soft chuckles from the phone, saying, “Are you working out with the team right now? You sound like you need a rest.”

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine. In fact, I could jump on tables right about now-“ Tony gets interrupted by Steve pressing a finger on his lips to quiet down, and Steve gestures at the crowd silently. He lowers his voice this time, “-anyway, it’s not about me. How are you uh,-“ he leans the back of his head against the tree bark and pinches the bride of his nose, “-what are you doing?” 

Steve moves over and leans his back on the same tree, sliding his body until he lands as a seating position on the grass, except he’s on the side next to Tony, phone in hand and eyes briefly closing. 

Pepper tells Tony many things—about the recent meeting she had yesterday, forcing down a bad meal back in the restaurant--saying she had to eat everything without making the other businessman uncomfortable, and Tony doesn’t say anything for a while but sink it all in and sits down beside Steve. Pepper. Pepper. He turns his head to look at Steve, who’s quietly picking on grass and clovers, and goddamit.

Tony tries for a convincing laugh, but it’s dry to his ears. “They offered you strawberries. Huh.” He brings a hand down against the grass, gazes at Steve, and tugs on a faint smile, and he doesn’t know why he’s doing this, but it felt like he wanted to.  
Steve doesn’t look at him. Instead he squeezes Tony’s hand in his on the grass without saying a word, thinking it’s best if he were to stay quiet for now, and Tony presses his head further against the bark and angles his chin upwards. 

“It was horrible, really. I didn’t feel like going back there,” Pepper replies wryly.

Tony absently pinches the bottom of his shirt and looks down, phone still in hand and Steve sitting right where he is. While Pepper addressed a small talk about Tony’s injury, he brushes the subject off like a fly, and he says, “It’s honestly not much, but this bandage makes it look depressing, and I’d be glad to uh,” He stops because Steve’s giving a look as if saying, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ 

They talk about small things, until Pepper says she has to go, and Tony mumbles something inaudible and slow before he hangs up the phone. He drops his hand to his lap, sighing through his nose and Steve clearing his throat to break the silence. 

“All good?” Steve asks, his gaze glued to the ground, and this makes Tony itch for something. 

“Fine, yeah,” Tony lies subtly because he hates being specific on touchy subjects, and this leaves Steve not looking very convinced. “Do y’wanna go now? It’s fine if we jus—“

Steve dismissively waves a hand. “Yeah, we can go,” he says, plastering on a faint smile, and then closing his jaw. They both scramble back on their feet the same time, just before remembering they have just been hiding. 

Steve glances from left to right, and just as he was about to lead the way, Tony gently tugs him by his forearm, his fingers coiling around his wrist. 

“Say uh, would it be fine if I were to kiss you right now?” Tony asks, raising a brow. 

Steve doesn’t wrench his arm back. “Hm?”

“You know, lip on lip-“

“Tony, we’re in the middle of-“

“Uh-huh.” 

Steve takes his time to study Tony’s expression. He sees one side of Tony’s mouth twisting upwards, the light in his dark eyes, and his hair looking slightly damp from the edges, where it gently sticks onto his skin. Once he clears those thoughts aside, he says, “Not now.”

“What?” 

And Steve walks towards him while Tony steps back to press his back against the tree. They hold eye contact for as long as they could before Steve puts a hand on Tony’s chest, looking at him curiously. 

Tony breathes in as Steve closes the space between them. 

“We’re so careless,” Steve murmurs once their faces stand close to each other. Tony blinks, and blinks, and he tries to experiment what Steve’s trying to say. “You have someone,” Steve continues, his voice lowering. “-who loves you, who’s willing to take care of you. I’m not her, but I keep thinking-“ 

_Stop,_ Tony thinks, because it’s getting hard to look at him in the eye, but he doesn’t tear his gaze.

“-why can’t I get enough of you?” Steve whispers, and Tony holds him, his hand resting on the man’s arm and keeping him there. 

“I don’t-“ Tony shakes his head. “god, I don’t know what to do, Steve.” And he doesn’t lie this time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony go on for a late night walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, and fluff.

It’s past nine now, and the sky is as dark as it gets. It’s not quiet as it should be because the city never sleeps, and Tony has gotten used to that. 

He doesn’t speak when Steve takes him by the hand and walks past empty alleys in the darker side of the place, tugging him close and wrapping an arm around Tony’s back comfortably. 

The air gets chilly that makes the little hairs stand on the back of Tony’s neck, but the warmth of Steve’s body close to his helps him get better. They walk and walk, avoiding busy roads and intersections, and Tony wouldn’t mind if they end up in a barren area. 

He looks up at Steve and gently stops him when they reach a lamppost. The golden light reaches Steve’s eyes and the side of his cheek that briefly silences Tony before he speaks, “You prefer the quiet? The non-busy streets and alleyways?” 

Steve bows his chin, faintly smiling as he curls his hand on Tony’s waist, and he says, “I often do, despite the experiences I’ve had in alleys and dark corners. When you’re surrounded and-“ He pauses because Tony’s gazing at him like he’s found something new, something that intrigues him, and he looks young again. “-aside from that, they don’t bother me as much anymore.”

“Yeah?” Tony jokingly furrows his brows. “You don’t mind stepping over rats and doggy leftovers?” 

Steve gives him a look and chuckles, no matter how much it echoes through the alley. “I try to avoid them as much as possible, even if some punk throws a few at you.” He then slows his tracks and lifts his chin to stare up the brick wall.

Tony cocks his head and follows Steve’s gaze. “Someone tried that.” he says, and Steve nods. “-huh. That’s insulting.” 

When Steve removes his hold from Tony, he steps toward a stair railing leading up and slides his hand along the cool metal. “Mhm, more than once, actually. Somehow I’ve gotten used to it.” He stands on the first step of the stairs and glances behind his shoulder before continuing upwards.

There’s a tiny squeak from the set of thin black stairs at every step and Tony looks up as Steve made his way to the very top. “Where you going?” he calls out. 

“No idea,” Steve replies, standing from the upper end. He motions Tony to follow him, and Tony goes, ignoring the amount of endless squeaks and rattles below him that makes him cringe. The higher he goes, the chillier it gets. The light wind comes in his face and he squints his eyes a little as he follows Steve. 

“I recommend some parkour action.” Tony says once he reaches the top, and he doesn’t know why he brought this up. He takes Steve by the hand this time and steps over a small ridge that leads them to a rooftop of a fairly medium-sized building. 

Steve shakes his head. “I’ve heard of it,” he says, removing his hand from the railing. 

They watch over the view, still bright as ever, New York and its flashy lights. It gives them a sense of awakening. It’s no wonder Steve hasn’t fallen asleep yet. He stands behind Tony and folds an arm across Tony’s chest-almost protectively-but its tender as he presses against the other man’s back. 

“Should’ve brought the suit with me,” Tony says as he leans back against the larger man. He feels Steve’s nose nuzzling the fine facial cut that runs down his jaw. 

“Not yet,” Steve mumbles. “I like standing,” He coils his free hand on the railing in front of them.

“Sounds awful,” Tony replies, making a face, and Steve closes his eyes and laughs against his skin. He’s holding him close, as if it is his first time to ever be this intimate with someone. He hasn’t been like this with anyone. He’s as comfortable as he is, and when he slides his arm down over Tony’s lower waist, he smiles to himself. 

The evening noise of New York makes up the silence between them, streetcars, taxicabs, and the sound of shoes scraping against pavement. Tony brings a hand and holds Steve’s arm around his waist, and slightly turns his head. “Hey. Hey, Steve.”

“Mm?”

“You’re a moron.”

“That’s flattering.”

Tony turns his back so that he stands, facing him. Steve has his hands on the small of his back, and Tony holds the man with his hip while the other comes up to his neck. Jaw against jaw, Tony lifts his chin and levels his lip to the nape of Steve’s neck, muttering, “You seem pleased.”

“Maybe,” Steve exhales through his nose as he presses Tony’s back against the railing. He angles his head to the side and sighs contently. “I,” he tells him, “don’t mind you calling me that.”

Tony snorts. “Huh. I’m growing on you.” He says in just above a murmur, lifting their head so their lips are an inch away from each other. When Steve catches his gaze, he licks his lips and clears his throat because he realizes they haven’t kissed yet. Just go with it, he thinks, and he does. 

And then Steve invitingly tilts his head to the side, eventually leaning closer to catch Tony’s lips with his. He takes it slow, and sweet, but just a bit more than the first kiss they had. Tony cups Steve’s jaw, letting his fingers contour slide along the edges, and he can’t move because his back is being pressed against the railing. 

Pleased, Tony parts his lips and mumbles against Steve’s warm mouth, “And what would you call me, tough guy?” 

“Mm,” Steve raises an eyebrow. “An idiot,” and laughs quietly to Tony’s ear. Tony notices his own pulse increasing. There’s a hum, a whir, coming from his chest, a soothing whir as he bows his head onto Steve’s shoulder. And goddamn, it makes him feel different, like something’s new.

“Fair enough,” Tony finally says as leans his cheek against Steve’s shoulder. “I mean, yeah, I get that a lot,” he starts, smirking, “like it’s a newfound compliment.” 

“So you like it,” Steve says slowly, unsure, and Tony nods. That’s fine, Steve guesses, and he almost smiles. He dips his chin and tilts his head, “You know, I don’t get you. You’re weird,” Tony snorts as Steve goes on, “odd. Unusual—" 

“—amazing intellectual,” Tony breaks in.

“You interrupted me.” 

Tony’s grin widens. “For the, what, fiftieth time?” Steve gives him a flat eye and when Tony challengingly raises a brow, he laughs, and god, Tony’s eyes crinkle as he’s laughing because he hasn’t been like this for a while, then there’s Steve, shaking his head and cupping his face before leaning in for a kiss. 

He doesn’t care if it’s already past nine, doesn’t care if Steve continues to keep him against the railing, body to body, and hands tangling where they are, and he doesn’t stop Steve from kissing him. He ignores the evening cold and embraces other man's warmth while their tongues collide, and he briefly forgets everything but Steve. 

Their foreheads meet, and suddenly Tony wants to say something. 

When he wills himself to do so, his voice is thick. It's stupid, it's stupid, Tony thinks. "You do that thing where- where you just do it, you know. Like nothing's stopping you, and it's fine. I’m into that. He stares at Steve's lips for the longest time and not his eyes because it's stupid, and everything is—

"I don't do it because I have to, Tony," Steve replies, sounding as though he's been wanting to tell him this. 

And all of a sudden, Tony sort of keeps going. "Okay. I know. You think it's—" 

"Wrong timing," Steve says. 

"I," Tony rubs his jaw, briefly closing his eyes. “Like that. There’s something that I’ve been meaning to say, sort of.”

He expects Steve to say cut him off, or even nothing at all, but he only says, "Okay. Go on, I guess." 

"Do y—"

"Yes." 

He blinks. "I didn’t-“

"Tony, I'm not-" Steve sighs as he eventually lets go of him. He runs a hand through his hair and stares down at the pavement for a little while before he looks up. "I'm not stupid as to what other people think. Cut the crap. I just cant- keep on waiting with you thinking I’m constantly oblivious.”

Tony scratches his neck. "Right." He clears his throat and steps away from the railing, swallowing. “This is stupid. Just tell me, or whatever. Again,” he looks up and meets Steve’s eyes, “so you won’t hear me talking.” 

Steve’s lip twists, and then he’s uncrossing his arms as he’s walking forward. “I love you,” he blurts, and Tony doesn’t stiffen. “In a way that makes me think sometimes. I know that-“ he begins gesturing with his hand in the air, “-someone else still has you, and I get it. I understand.

“But what am I supposed to do? You came up to me. I said certain things, you quipped back, and it- it wasn’t a good start. Two months happened and I realized we’ve been getting better, I think. Less.. fights, despite the spar we had,” he smiles faintly to himself, rubbing his forehead, “I liked it. We chose the right thing; co-operation, and we got so much more from that.

“I don’t know if you think of this as a one-thing, and then it’s over, but it’s certainly not like that. To me, anyway.” Steve closes his jaw and sinks his hands into his pockets.

Tony nods a couple of times, and stares at the railing, not quite looking at him yet, but when he finally does, he briefly pecks Steve’s lips. “Not a good start, huh. You got a point there,” when he says this, Steve cups Tony’s face with his hands. 

“Did you hear me?” Steve murmurs. “I said I love you.” 

“Perfectly clear,” Tony utters quickly, and Steve lets out a breathy chuckle. 

~*~

They stay on the roof for quite a while, with Tony’s arm lazily curling around Steve’s waist and Steve pointing out familiar buildings, saying things like, “I remember that place.” Tony listens, because okay, he likes it when Steve trails off to different topics and ramble on about things in the past, and often Steve realizes he’s been talking for too long, Tony would smirk and nip his lip. 

“You want me to shut up, don’t you,” Steve says at one point. When he does, he tries not to smile. 

“Nah,” Tony replies, looking up. “Don’t.” 

So Steve doesn’t. He tells him stories from art school, the times with Bucky, his experiences in training camp, and then moves on to his first time tasting a frappucino--Tony had asked him- which then Steve thinks ‘it’s not a big deal’, aside from the fact the it ‘sparked’ his taste buds. Who says that?

When the time comes, the two men decides to leave the rooftop and venture through the alleyways again, all in their little conversations. 

“I can call in the suit,” Tony says, putting a hand on Steve’s back as they walk past the familiar streetlamp. 

“Okay,” Steve nods, and then scratches his head. “Uh, what time is it?”

Tony shrugs. “Twelve? Huh. I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Steve shakes his head and only pulls Tony closer to him, nuzzling his face to the man’s cheek. “Neither have I.”

They stop by the lamp post, only for Tony to back Steve against the cold metal post. “Who knew you were the big ol’ softy here?” Tony murmurs, his lips twisting to a little smile as he studies Steve’s face. 

“Shut up,” Steve replies, before nipping Tony’s lip. “I’ve seen the same side of you plenty of times, believe me. I can count them all.” 

Tony tilts his head, and then he sort of grins because it’s there is that new feeling that hits him again, which he thinks it’s cliche but it gets him everytime. And then he feels Steve’s arms loop around his back, tugging him closer and raising an eyebrow. Tony makes a face and says, “You’ve been watching me for- let’s see, how long?” 

Steve doesn’t say anything but squeezes Tony’s hips and groans sarcastically, which then Tony thinks that may be one of his sassy moments. He half-smirks when Steve finally murmurs against his skin, “You talk too much,” and he can feel him grinning, “C’mon, let’s go home.” 

“That wasn’t very nice,” Tony points out, poking Steve’s chest. He extends his forearm behind him to call for his iron suit and retrieves his hand only to sink it down in the back of Steve’s jean pockets. He says, “Uh, you’re gonna have to wait for a little bit.” 

“Hm?”

“”You’ll see.” 

And before Steve knew it, parts of the iron suit comes in from behind and latches onto Tony’s arm, to the next, in which he had to step back a bit as he watches it take whole of Tony’s legs, chest, to every little piece until he’s all suited up. His eyebrows shoot upwards as Tony’s face mask clamps to a close.

That’s,” he breathes, crossing his arms. “That’s new.”

Tony walks forward, says, “Yup,” and holds Steve around the waist. “The newest of it all. Grip tight, babe.” 

“That’s amazing, I think,” Steve shuffles closer.

Tony starts the ignition, lowering his hands and allowing the repulsors to generate as they’re hovering up high and he curls a hand protectively around the other man once the wind picks up. “I got more good stuff at home,” he grins. “You want a show?” 

Steve looks like he’s about to say something, but then he closes his mouth again. 

“That’s a yes," Tony blurts.

“What?”

He laughs as they began soaring through the night sky, past the park and around. He hasn’t realized they’ve wandered this far. Steve didn’t seem to mind because through it all, he stares at the street lights, squinting his eyes a little every so often as the wind moved stronger. The light catches Steve’s eyes again, Tony notices, and he bites his tongue. 

And again, and again.

It’s getting brisk. Tony speeds up the pace and blasts another spark from the iron gauntlet. 

“Never liked flying,” Steve says after a while, almost inaudible. His hair’s all over the place, sweeping past his forehead and sticking in the same direction as the wind.

“You prefer standing,” Tony replies behind the facemask, and Steve’s lip quirk. 

“Yeah, but this-“ he gestures a hand in the air. “I like it.” He sort of smiles as a relief, and then he opens his mouth and laughs with an exhale. Tony holds Steve tighter as he shoots up the Avengers tower, all the way up to the roof entrance, until they’re almost there. 

Steve sways his feet a little and stops once they reach the ground as Tony lifts the iron helmet and stuffs it against his side. 

“Do you?” Tony says as he walks towards him, ignoring the clank clank of iron against the ground. “Cheesy question, I know,” and Steve snorts.

They come face to face, still on the roof, even though it’s only getting brisk, but Tony’s already sliding a hand down Steve’s arm and leaning in to say something close to his ear, “Nevermind that though, I have something uh, better to say,” 

Steve bites his tongue as the man gets close. He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah?” he says, mocking Tony’s voice. 

“Yeah,” he blinks. “I love you, too.”

And just by saying that made Tony feel better, like those were the words that often gets stuck in hs throat, urging him to say or do something, and it was a relief. His shoulders felt lighter again. He doesn’t move when Steve cups his face with his hands and kiss him right there on the same spot. It’s more urgent, passionate, and- and-

-It’s the best feeling ever.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block happened. Two months later (I know right), here it is. For those who's still reading, thank you, and feel free to tell me what you think. :-)

Steve and Tony don’t sleep by the time they get back.

Instead, there are fingers all over blonde strands, left hand clamping to the other one’s waist and Tony’s backing himself past the counter before he realized what was going on. Tony ignores the sharp pain on his hip when he accidentally stumbles against the corner of a table.

“Where,” Steve barely mumbles against Tony’s lips, who in return, grips Steve’s shirt in his fist and doesn’t stumble once his back hits the wall. The wall it is.

Tony’s breathing is ragged, bottom lip slightly swollen, hands- hands yearning, yet he wills himself to stop for a second and take in Steve’s sight. There’s a faint mark sitting on the nape of his neck where he had marked that spot a while ago. He plants another one just below Steve’s jawline.

“Not here.” Tony begins working on Steve’s belt buckle. “There.”

Steve nods, a little bit too quickly as he then gripped both sides of Tony’s waist and waits for him to start moving him backwards. “Go on,” he breathes, before moving kisses down Tony’s neck. It doesn’t take that long until Tony starts shuffling forwards with Steve in front of him, and easily slips through the open door. 

The room’s dim, sort of, with two handy lamps but not as bright as it should be. Tony doesn’t bother re-adjusting it when he’s basically pinned against Steve’s body against the bed counter. 

“Do you- do you want this,” Steve says, his voice breathy and low that makes the other man shudder. His hand follows down Tony’s stomach, and then falters as he meets his eyes.

Tony nearly dismisses the question, but he pays attention hard enough to say, “I-yeah. Very much so, yeah,” and then grazes his lips against the hollow of Steve’s throat. “You?”

“I do,” Steve says slowly. Before Tony does anything, he meet’s Steve’s gaze as he lowered his hands to Steve’s belt buckle, and he nods as an approval. Tony manages to loosen the ties of Steve’s shorts, agonizingly slow enough to drag his fingers down against the fabric. He could hear Steve suck in a breath, and he doesn’t break eye contact through it all.

“Shirt,” Tony says, and Steve raises both arms for Tony to slip the shirt off of him. His lips go dry and he soon finds himself biting on his lower lip hard enough for it to bleed a little. Tony quickly pulls his shirt away and tosses it elsewhere before trailing his lips along Steve’s collarbone, and god, does it feel good.

Steve opens his mouth little and he’s sort of smiling now. And he- he needs more. He needs the feel of Tony’s hands on- down there, chest, hand in hand, and then he cups Tony’s cheek so that their eyes meet. He nips the man’s bottom lip with his teeth and grins. 

“You’re a complete idiot,” Tony mutters against Steve’s grin, and he quickly turns them over so that Steve is pressed against the bed. There’s a faint noise of his back landing against the mattress and a tiny squeak as Tony crawls over him, lips twisting.

The string of his shorts dangle as he towers over Steve’s form. When Steve props himself up using his elbows, Tony trails a hand down his chest, and lowers again until he reaches Steve’s shorts.

 _Breathe,_ Steve thinks. “Was that a compliment?

Tony slides the man’s shorts down and meets his eyes. “Yeah, you’re-“ there’s a lump in his throat and his words come out embarrassingly more than it should. “-You’re a fucking beauty. An idiot who happen to have my eyes on and I want to-“

Steve bucks his hips forward, and he doesn’t mean to sound as though he’s panting because he wants to touch him in all the right places and mark whatever on his skin. His fingers dig into Tony’s arm, leans towards him and presses his forehead against Tony’s, not caring how breathy he may sound like. 

“Do what you want with me,” Steve breathes, and Tony groans as he’s gripping him with his fingers. “And I’ll-“

“Fuck, I- yeah. I’ll be good to you, I promise. It’s going to be good.” 

“Okay,” Steve says, and Tony reaches over the drawer- anything really- to get his hands on the lube that he hasn’t touched in quite a while. He’s going to make this special and he’s going to take it slow because he wants Steve to remember this, after all.

He doesn’t want to think about what would happen the next day, or the things he would say if it doesn’t go too well. He wants to pay attention at how Steve shuffles below him, the way his eyes darken, and the movement of his hips arching for friction against Tony’s.

It makes his head spin when Steve tentatively splays a hand on Tony’s chest, where his arc reactor was, and kisses the skin inches away from the circular edges and groans out his name quietly. Steve’s tongue continues to linger slowly up to Tony’s collarbones, then slides over to his neck and briefly opens to his eyes, only to catch a small crack from the door.

“Tony, the door,” Steve warns, and he tries not to grin too wide.

“Shit, just-“ Tony starts with his cheeks a bit flushed and god, he can feel his hair getting damp over his forehead. Without a thought, Tony grabs the nearest tennis ball and throws it against the door for it to fully close. “Case closed.”

Steve chuckles below him and pulls Tony in for another small kiss, saying, “Don’t stop now.”

And Tony doesn’t.

~*~

 

_“Sir, Miss Potts has left you a voicemail.”_

Without looking at the time, Tony flips a pillow over his head, mumbling. “Time, Jarvis.”

_“Five thirty sharp in the morning sir. I believe the sun hasn’t—.”_

“No time, Jarvis,” Tony interrupts before it could say anything further. “Send through phone, will you.”

_"Of course, sir. I wouldn’t want to wake—“_

“Stop talking.”

A click comes from his phone, and Tony aimlessly drags his hand to the bedside table for his phone before pressing it against his ear.

_“Morning, Tony. Um, I called really early, which is, I don’t know, you’re probably sleeping. Or out saving the world for all I know. Time flies really quickly, doesn’t it? Anyway, today’s the last day for me. They’re finally putting me off the hook, and god, I’m so glad. And- I miss you, Tony. I was thinking that- maybe if you come in here- we can both stay in this house. In Malibu. That would be nice—“_

Click. 

Tony had known what she was going to say next.

He sits on the corner of the bed, rubbing his temples right around the sore spots and down to the bridge of his nose. He takes a glance over his shoulder and there was Steve with his face buried next to Tony’s pillow and his hair looking disheveled.  
He looks peaceful, a little cold where his forearm is pressed tightly against his bare chest.

As Tony slips on his t-shirt and the rest of his clothes and shoes, he thinks of returning Pepper’s call. He thinks of her situated in the car with Happy, putting on tired smiles as she would ascend the stairs with the rest of the Officials once she steps out of that door. 

While he looks back at Steve, he decides to go outside to the room’s balcony and dial her for a little while, and when he finishes dressing up, the ringtone sounds heavy to his ears and it makes his stomach twists.

He closes the balcony door behind him and turns to face the open view. Four more ringtones had passed and finally, he thinks of giving up—

“Hello?” 

It was her voice again. 

“It’s Tony, hi,” and then a pause, “I missed your call, sorry I—“

“No, no, it’s fine,” she says.

“Probably not,” Tony blurts out before he could stop himself. 

Pepper doesn’t say anything through the phone and he thinks she’s probably in bed, tucked in on one side with a phone in hand. It’s a silent atmosphere and he hates knowing that it’s all on him. 

She asks, “Did you get my voicemail?” after disregarding his previous statement. Tony nearly doesn’t know how to respond. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay..”

“When do you want me?” Tony says, looking down at his fingers, and he thinks of lightening up the conversation if he has to.

“When _do_ do you want to?” Pepper tries to laugh a little, but it’s not the same kind of laugh he would often hear from her. “Um, Happy, I think he misses your presence, weirdly enough.”

Tony smiles tightly to himself as he rubs his jaw. It wasn’t Pepper, it was him, and his shoulders are a bit slumped while pressing in to the railing. “He’s the softy,” he jokes before changing the subject. “I’ll think about it Pep. Just- I don’t know, let’s just talk, for now.”

“Okay.” 

“Okay.”

There’s a pause again. “Have you just woken up?”

Tony blinks. “Your voicemail was my wake-up call. It’s eight anyway.” He turns to the glass window only to see the bed still tousled, empty, and he finds himself not thinking straight as he should be.

Steve may have crept down the kitchen or wandered out the room but the main door was closed and the ball he had thrown earlier hadn’t moved either, and Tony shouldn’t be worrying too much because- because-

“It’s five in the morning here, Tony,” Pepper breaks through. “I think this is the earliest I’ve called. It’s ridiculous—“

“No, it’s not,” Tony says abruptly, and he stares down at his own knuckles. _Just keep talking. Everything’s okay. It’s fine if Steve’s—_ “I’m glad you called, and I don’t want you gone, but if it’s five, then sleep, Pep. I shouldn’t be the one keeping you awake.” While holding the phone, Tony steps back inside and stands near the corner of the bed. 

“That’s not it. I think you know that, Tony.”

His stomach drops. “Right.” He scrubs a hand over his face, but then he’s facing the door now and if he were to put his hands on the doorknob and walk out, he’d go along with the rest of the day and act as though nothing had happened. It would hurt, maybe. 

“When will you be coming home?” she says, and he can hear her bed sheets shuffle.

“I’ll be there,” Tony replies. “Soon.” He doesn’t mean to say it so quickly when his hand is still on the fucking doorknob to the point where he’s tapping nonchalantly. Fuck it all if he were uncertain. 

“Something is holding you back, whatever it is. Tony, I’m just trying to-“ She sighs. ”I’m trying to talk to you.”

Tony’s fingers stop moving. He wants to say all sorts of things to her, that she doesn’t deserve him. He could have done so much more, make her happy and be with her when the time is right. He says, “I know, and I want to make it right for you,” but he doesn’t have all the steps laid out.

He steps away from the door once again to lean his back against the wall. “I can’t fix anything but my tools. Anything from that, I’m just an asshole.”

“What are you saying?”

“I can’t make you happy,” he says tightly, closing his eyes. “And that I’m a dick for not-“

“Stop saying that, Tony,” she protests. “It’s been weeks since I’ve last seen you. This isn’t the worse we’ve been—“

“-being there for you. I’m saying that I could have done—“

“-through.” She takes a deep breath. She sounds tired. “Tony. Just- come home if you can, okay?”

He puts a hand back on the knob again. “Okay,” he murmrus, and then he eventually opens the door in time for Pepper to say goodbye. “B—“ She hangs up the phone before he could say it. 

“Fuck,” he mutters.

 

_“Tony, what are you—“_

_“What does it look like I’m doing?” He says behind her with his hand clamped over her eyes._

_“I can’t see you what you’re doing.”_

_Tony grins and takes both her hands in his. “Giving you something.” Pepper furrows her brows and she’s not sure whether to laugh or hold Tony’s hand so she’s caught between chuckling and making sure Tony’s hand is still close to hers._

_“I see no point of you covering my eyes for a little while there.”_

_“Cheesy moment,” he says nonchalantly with a flick of his wrist, “but aside from that-“ Tony places something on the palm of her hands._

_“You’re so weird,” Pepper laughs, and as she looks down, she takes a moment to say something._

_“It’s a ball.”_

_“A—“_

_“—tennis ball,” Tony finishes, and he flashes her a brief grin to stop himself from breaking into laughter. “You said you wanted to b—“_

_“Oh my god, I was joking. We’re not getting a dog—“_

_“In spite of my best efforts, I have—“_

_“I will wack you with this,” she laughs. And she does, and she watches as it catches the back of Tony’s leg as he tries to get away. She forgets to hold herself back from laughing but god, he can be an idiot sometimes, and she facepalms when tears are starting to form in her eyes._

_When Tony calms himself down, he bends forward and leans in to her. “Efforts are efforts. Whatever,” he murmurs before Pepper catches his lips._

 

And maybe Tony hasn’t been paying attention when Steve approaches behind him, who doesn’t know if he should place a hand on Tony’s waist and pull him close. He only plants his lips on the back of Tony’s left shoulder, enough for Tony to turn and acknowledge where they’re standing. 

“Morning,” Steve says, his voice deep. There’s a small sign of a smile on his face.

“Hi,” Tony replies, because he can’t think of anything else to say at the way Steve’s looking at him, from the first time he fell in l— “I think I’ll go get some coffee,” he says, and then moves without closing the door.

Steve follows him eventually and nods, though he’s not entirely sure why he’s nodding, probably because he wants to say something but it won’t come out just yet—

“Do you want?” Tony asks without turning around.

Steve nods again curtly. “Yeah, thanks.”

They don’t talk when they descend the stairs. Natasha and Bruce were just around the corner and Steve acknowledges them by tipping his head, meanwhile Tony continues to move forward while occasionally checking his watch. 

“Left,” Steve says, like it’s some morning routine.

“Thanks,” Tony lifts his head and turns to the said direction and away from walking into a wall. Twice it happened now, which is sort of amusing. “Not a morning person,” he babbles, swinging his wrist. “You seem to be the type. Big and cuddly.” 

“Cuddly.” Steve raises a brow. 

Tony shrugs. “Sometimes handsy, but you know—“

Steve stops. “Okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

Steve rubs the back of his head. “I wasn’t grabbing you, was I.”

“Sort of,” Tony replies.

As they’re nearing the main kitchen, Tony spots Clint flexing his compound bow with a biscuit trapped between his teeth, and all the while leaving crumbs on the counter. Tony pulls a half-smug smile and makes sure to grab Steve’s wrist without Clint looking. “Do you want a demonstration?” And then he leads him to the opposite wall away from Clint’s view.

Steve crosses his arms, as if hugging himself. “You’re funny,” he murmurs under his breath.

“No, I’m serious.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Are you going to re-enact—“

“You said something too, which is fine because it’s—“

“What was it?”

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but he’s already peering to the other side and his mouth forms a little ‘o’. “

“We’ll hang on to that,” and then he starts walking off. 

“Wait. There’s something else.”

“After, Cap.”

“I wasn’t done with you, Stark.”

There are warm fingers coiling around Tony’s wrist, a grip not too firm but enough to hold him in place, and when Tony looks up, the corner of Steve’s lip curls. Tony clicks his teeth and faces him. “And now you’re grabbing me,” he replies smugly. 

Steve glances down at his wrist and he doesn’t let go. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Tony squints one eye. “Regarding with the whole murmuring-sweet-nothings thing?”

“What? No.” 

Tony’s lips falters to a thin line and nods solemnly.

“Okay. It’s-,” Steve let his fingers fall from Tony’s wrist. The muscles in his jaw flexes before continuing, “about earlier. She—“

“Pepper, yeah,” Tony jots back quickly.

Steve stares at him, and then he shakes his head. 

“She called, and uh- you got it, right?” he asks.

Tony stuffs a hand in his pocket. “Yeah, and I know. Sunk that in a while ago.”

Steve nods and flexes his jaw, and he moves his head like he’s about to say something. “Okay,“ he licks his lips, and then he stops. “And she mentioned me.”

He starts walking towards the kitchen, then stops. “Y- hold on, you heard all of i—“

“I was in there for a while,” Steve cuts him off because he had to admit it. He follows him to the kitchen and briefly forgets that Clint was in the same room. Or, he may have gone off but that doesn’t matter to him. “Maybe you should—“

“Birdie,” Tony interrupts, pointing a finger at Clint. “Bottle,” Clint mutters ‘asshole’ under his breath as he tosses it towards him before putting his head back on the couch. 

Steve, slightly irritated, watches with a hard look as Tony subtly takes a corkscrew from the drawer to pop the thing open. “Tony,” he says with a voice treading on thin ice at the moment, but Tony only shakes his hand and grabs a glass. Steve exhales quietly through his nose and takes the bottle from his hands. “Listen.”

Tony stops his hand in mid-air and faces him, though he doesn’t seem to be paying attention every time he lowers his eyes at the bottle to avoid eye contact. He crosses his arms and rubs his jaw. “Trying to save the day here?” he presses, finally meeting Steve’s eyes.

It hurts when Steve suddenly wants to stop what they’re doing. Hell, it may be too obvious.

Steve doesn’t blink. “We’re not doing this here, Tony.”

“Alright.” Tony gestures towards the door that leads to the upper floor. “Enlighten me.” 

They don’t notice Clint glancing at the two every so often, and the sound of him eventually shuffling away from the couch and towards the door. Steve doesn’t move when he realizes they were alone, no sign of Clint, and the others. He lowers his eyes, and the muscle in his jaw flickers as he settles the bottle on the counter. 

“What’s holding you?” Steve says, turning.

“Me?” Tony steps closer. “Do I need to write it down for you? I’m fucking in love with you,” he says, eyeing him, “if that’s what you’re here for.”

“We knew what was coming.” Steve’s voice doesn’t shake, though he tries not to. Every word he says is a jab. “We have to think of what we’re doing. This, she— she knows, maybe and keeping things a secret won’t—“

“Say what you mean. I’m not dropping this.” Tony narrows his eyes to the table and twists the side of his mouth. “I know what I’m doing.” 

Steve puts a hand on his arm just as Tony was about to turn away. “Then _tell_ me, _exactly,_ what you are going to do. You’re not doing this on your own, Tony.”

Tony had almost smiled bitterly to himself. “Last night, huh.” He says, like it’s something that had came into his mind, and because Steve hadn’t mentioned a thing about it. “Obviously it wasn’t just something to do and then it’s over. Maybe I was an idiot to--” He waves a hand dismissively, like he doesn’t know whether to cross his arms or not. “It was something.” 

“I’m not asking you to leave.” Steve says placidly, lowering his gaze. ”I love you, dammit. And about last night, I’m not throwing that away. It meant something to me, if you knew. I can’t—“

“I know.” Tony bites his lip. “Me too.”

Steve looks up, and Tony expects him to smile or something, Hell, maybe just a little and that could do him good. This was not supposed to be eating him up, but it did. He glances at Steve’s hand that was on his arm and nods. For a moment he thinks of Pepper. “I’ll talk to her,” he says with a swallow. _But I’m sure as hell wouldn’t leave you._

“Okay.”

His hand trails down Tony’s arm and Tony accepts it, letting his fingertips cross his forearm, skimming and lingering past his wrist until he lets his fingers fall against his hand. Tony unvoluntarily gives Steve’s hand a small squeeze and meets his eyes, just to let him know, at least, he fell _hard_.

~*~

The lower floor is empty-

-until Bruce walks in wearing loose pants and his hair slightly ruffled. When he spots Steve along the way, he doesn’t bother fixing it.

“Hello, Steve.”

He doesn’t see him until then. “Oh, uh-“ he clears his throat and picks up a remote control. “Hi. Bruce.” 

Bruce rubs his forehead and seats himself on an arm chair. He looks exhausted, or so that’s what Steve had thought the first time he walked in. Perhaps he’s been wrong to think that he’s been out with Tony while he was gone. 

“Work got you in a knot?” Steve asks, joining his hands, and occasionally watches the flat screen TV in front of them. He remembers seeing him during the early morning with Natasha.

Bruce shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose, his mouth twisting. “Don’t know how to describe it,” he says almost jokingly. “I spilled um, some stuff. It did not work out well as I hoped it would.”

“An experiment?”

“Yes. It has recently been a project of mine. Anyway, it’s—“ Bruce shakes his head again to disregard the whole idea. “And then I sparred with Natasha.”

“Ah.” Steve looks down at his hands, unfolds and folds them. He knows he’s not making the best company at the moment when he’s thinking about something else other asking about Bruce’s experience.. Tony went off a while ago, and Steve doesn’t know where. If he’s out to talk with Pepper, then that’s fine. It’s fine. It’s for the best. 

“Here, you can-” he hands the remote control to him, “you can change it.” 

Bruce gives him a brief smile and takes it. “It doesn’t matter, but thanks.”

They both stare at the TV screen. If Steve could clear his mind for a little while, it would do him good. He knows Tony well enough to trust him, though he didn’t want to keep themselves apart for so long.

“Pepper,” Bruce starts, out of the blue, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “When is she coming back?” He doesn’t look at him but only swims through the channels.

Steve rubs his neck. “Uh, I’ve no clue. Haven’t heard a word from her since.” Tony hadn’t mentioned about the day she’s going to be returning.

“It usually doesn’t take her long but… it’s Tony. He hasn’t been-” Bruce fiddles with the buttons. “-Tony,” he says slowly, glancing between the control and the screen.

Steve looks away from the screen again, his lips a little tight. “He wasn’t with you?”

“He was. He often checked his phone often while he helping me, until he eventually excused himself for a call. Not much of a talker these days.”

“I don’t-“ Steve tries to find the right word to sound convincing. “-know about it, but I guess it’s something--“

“Steve, I’ve seen you two,” Bruce says, lowering his voice, and Steve blinks. “Few weeks ago? Baseball..” He looks at Steve expectantly, as if waiting for him to remember what had happened.

“Uh.” He didn’t know what to say.

“He looked comfortable,” Bruce continues. “Let’s say… I haven’t seen him like that since, if I’m being honest. You’re good to him, and I see that.”

Steve smiles faintly as he’s looking down. “I like seeing him that way.”

“Know what you’re doing?” Bruce asks.

He hopes he is. “Yeah.”

Bruce nods. “Good. Just do what's best for you, Steve.”

“I- yeah. I know. Thanks, Bruce.” 

They move their eyes to the flat screen TV again, yet Steve barely pays attention to the news channel Bruce had landed on. It’s quiet, that’s good. He tries not to think too much, about Malibu, and- and Tony, wherever he is. It’s fine if Tony needed space for a while but everytime he takes out his phone, he could hear Pepper’s voice somehow, ringing in his head, the same voice that came from the other end of Tony’s call. 

_Do the right thing._ Steve rubs his face with his hand. _Just do the right thing._


End file.
